Protecting You
by aficionada-de-libros
Summary: Sometimes the deepest love has to look like hate in order to accomplish what it needs to. Sometimes we need to hurt the ones we love in order to protect them. Sometimes the most important decisions we make are the ones we despise most.
1. What I fear most

_**A/N: When I started working on this around Christmas (2017), I never thought it would take me this long to start posting. But between work, health issues including surgery and a six-week recovery period, some family drama, but also many delightful events, things took longer than I would have liked.**_

 _ **Now I am back with another father-and-son tale of Thranduil and Legolas (for the most part). Sort of a fix-it for the horrible depiction of their relationship in the three Hobbit movies, which will hopefully also fill some of the plot holes in that movie that have bugged me for YEARS. Readers of my other LOTR stories will find a familiar face or two. Tauriel makes an appearance, but I'll be honest: I am not terribly fond of her.**_

 _ **The timeline starts a few decades before "An unexpected adventure" and goes on to span all three movies.**_

 _ **Please be advised: this is movie-verse with a generous dollop of creative licence. I tried not to butcher the characters. Feel free to disagree with my take on things, but please stay civil. Thank you.**_

 _ **The rating is T on principle – there is some mention of blood, death, and alcohol (we're in Mirkwood, after all). I will include warnings where I feel they might be necessary.**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: I am neither J. R. R. Tolkien nor Peter Jackson. Make of that what you will. However, I respectfully use their characters and storylines for my writing pleasure, and hopefully to entertain my readers.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 1: What I fear most**

It was the one sight he feared most, the one sight he had prayed he would never be forced to see. Only sheer willpower and iron self-control kept him where he stood, rather than doing what his heart screamed at him to do – and what would be rather unwise under the given circumstances.

So he waited for the grief-stricken group of roughly a dozen warriors to cross the bridge to the main gate, his hands, tightly clenched into each other behind his back, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil.

He heard Feren beside him draw a sharp breath as he caught sight of the warriors on the two stretchers at the head of the group. Barely allowing himself a look at the wounded, he almost instantly locked eyes with the head healer who walked between the two stretchers.

"Lord Sadron?" he asked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

"It looks worse than it is, _aran-nín_ ," the healer replied evenly, "but we should waste no time in getting them to the infirmary."

With a curt nod, the Elvenking stepped aside, forcing himself not to react to the pained groan that escaped one of the wounded at the slight jostling caused by the stop-and-go motion of his carriers. The rest of the group filed past their lord, gathering under the archway and waiting there in dejected silence as at last the covered stretcher was carried up to the king. With a gentleness that few of his soldiers had ever witnessed in him, Thranduil eased the blanket from the lifeless form to reveal the bloodied face of the slain warrior.

All sound ceased around them save for the rushing of the river and the soft breath of wind in the trees. The king placed a hand on the unmoving chest, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. Then, covering the body once more, he straightened to his full height and motioned for the group to enter the palace before him. Standing in the open gate, the light of the setting autumn sun painting his tall frame in a crimson halo, he studied the bruised-and-battered members of the guard.

"Have your wounds seen to," he ordered softly after a moment. There was no need to raise his voice. They knew well enough that even his quietest tones carried the most unyielding authority. "Then report to me in one hour."

Without awaiting their acknowledgement, he crossed the entrance hall and strode off toward the healing rooms.

\\*/*\\*/

Sadron sensed rather than consciously perceived the Elvenking's almost soundless arrival in the room. As he was in the middle of setting a broken leg, he did not look up from what he was doing, knowing the king would stay by the door until invited to approach. The well-being of his people _always_ came first for the ruler, even if it meant putting his own needs aside at great personal cost.

A few moments later, Sadron was finished and, leaving the splinting and bandaging to his assistants, went to speak to the king.

"How are they?" Thranduil asked quietly, his voice even but his eyes ever so slightly tightening in worry.

"Bruised, battered and in pain. Conscious, although I think they'd rather they weren't. Their wounds are serious but they will mend in time," the healer replied, glancing back at the only two occupied beds in the ward.

"What injuries did they sustain?" the king enquired, his eyes following Sadron's gaze.

"Cuts and contusions, mostly. A few broken bones and dislocated joints. Slight concussions, but it seems they got off lucky, considering." The head healer stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line.

A nearly imperceptible nod was all the reaction that Sadron got from Thranduil. "May I speak to them for a moment?"

"Certainly."

So the Elvenking approached the beds where the wounded warriors had just been tucked in by Sadron's assistants.

" _Aran-nín_!" they greeted him, struggling to assume some semblance of an at-attention posture.

"At ease," he replied quietly but firmly, taking in the pain and the heartbroken look in their eyes. "You suffered a great loss today. I know he was your friend, not merely a fellow warrior." It was a simple statement, but made in a voice that only very few people who knew him had ever heard. Those who had would claim it was the voice reserved only for his son.

"We tried everything we could to save him, sire, but ..." The younger of the two wounded warriors spoke in a frantic rush, but his voice broke and he closed his eyes to prevent the king from seeing his tears.

" _Sîdh_ , young one," Thranduil reassured him, lowering himself on the edge of the bed and laying his hand on the warrior's uninjured shoulder in a compassionate touch. "There is no need to speak of this now. The time to discuss today's events will come soon enough, but for the moment your only task is to rest and allow your injuries to heal. I promise that I will hear each one of you in due course. Until I have, no one will be allowed to pass judgement – and that includes yourself."

The warrior let out a long, shuddering breath and opened his eyes to look at his king. He began to say something, but words failed him again. Thranduil did not seem to mind, though. He gave the shoulder under his fingers another kind squeeze and rose to his feet. "Try to sleep. I will come back later."

Then the king took a few steps to the right and sat down on the edge of the other bed. Without words, hands found each other and held on for dear life.

"My heart weeps to see you so wounded, but it sings to see you alive," the proud Elvenking whispered, leaning forward and placing a tender kiss on the bruised forehead. "My beloved child!"

\\*/*\\*/

Very reluctantly Thranduil took his leave after a few minutes with his son. Not much had been spoken, at least not in words. Legolas was in considerable pain, and as much as he wished to reassure his anxious father, he found it hard to form words through the pounding in his head and the grinding ache of his broken ribs. Thranduil shushed him several times, telling him they could talk later. But when he moved to stand, Legolas gripped his hands harder, tugging him forward a little. " _Saes, ada!_ " he rasped, pulling one of his father's hands to rest over his heart.

Thranduil understood, closing his eyes and opening his senses to their bond. ' _What is it, Legolas?'_

' _This should not have happened, adar_. _There was no reason for this to go so terribly wrong. He need not have died.'_

The king frowned. ' _What do you mean?'_

' _He rushed headlong into danger when he did not need to.'_

The frown was replaced by a sombre expression. ' _Do you mean to say he invited death?'_

There was a beat of silence before Legolas answered. _'Perhaps not invite ... but he was not as reluctant as he should have been.'_

' _That is a very serious allegation, Legolas. Are you certain?'_

' _Not an allegation, adar,'_ Legolas hurried to reply. _'An observation, rather.'_

' _Was there a reason for him to act that way?'_ the king asked, dread and suspicion stirring in his mind.

' _Talk to Tauriel, and to Feren.'_ Deep exhaustion made itself felt on Legolas' part, and immediately his father's love and gentle compassion drowned out all other emotions.

' _Sleep now, beloved child. Rest assured that I will take care to heed your advice. You just sleep and heal now. I will return for the night. Sadron is here with you until I do.'_

' _Hannon le, ada_ , _'_ the prince replied, squeezing his father's hands as firmly as he could before slipping into sleep.

Thranduil sat for a few moments longer, revelling in the knowledge that his son was safe and on his way to recovery. Then he carefully and reluctantly extricated his hands from his son's, pulled the blankets over his shoulders, and placed another light kiss on the golden head.

As he closed the door to the healing rooms behind himself, however, confusion and worry rushed back. One of his warriors had found (sought and found, even?) death on what should have been a routine patrol. This in itself was troubling enough. But what had Tauriel and Feren to do with anything?


	2. All I am tonight

_**A/N: So here's chapter 2. Thank you everyone for your reviews and follows so far, but most of all for taking the time to read. Enjoy, and if you like, let me know what you think!**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 2: All I am tonight**

Thranduil's head was aching. He would have been hard-pressed to remember the last time he'd had a headache that had not been brought on by some form of injury – but he had one now.

The sun must have long set over the Woodland Realm, judging by the way the bustle of court activity had died down and left silence in its wake. That was just as well, for his ears were ringing with the reports he had just heard from the ill-fated patrol party.

 _Legolas was right_ , he thought numbly, not that he'd had any doubts about that. Still, the facts had been hard to listen to.

Cautioned by his son's words and following a sudden impulse, he had decided to hear each of the uninjured warriors separately, ordering Elros to keep them apart while they waited for their respective turns.

All but one had told the same story, with obvious allowances for perspective and the different roles they had played in the incident.

The last one was who had brought on his headache. They still told more or less the same story, but in an entirely different tone and with completely different conclusions.

He had obtained a fairly clear picture of what had happened in the forest, though.

The patrol had chanced upon a huge spiders' nest in a cave system near a deep ravine. After scouting it out and discovering that there were only two entry or exit points to the caves, it was decided to block both of them and set fire within, thereby killing all of the foul creatures residing there. Everyone had agreed, except for Tauriel, who thought they should let one or two spiders escape, speculating that they might lead them to other nests. After discussing the idea, most of them agreed that it was too risky for such a small patrol team and required a larger operation. Leaving the nest untouched and the spiders to keep spawning in peace was even riskier. So Tauriel's idea was put on hold until some other, better opportunity arose. Barhador had not spoken up, not because he disagreed with the assessment of the more experienced warriors, but because he carried a torch for Tauriel and did not want to alienate her.

But Tauriel took his silence as agreement with her, and as soon as the group split up to attend to their different tasks, she talked Barhador into trying to follow through with her own plan anyway.

They didn't seal the mouth of the cave as tightly as they should have, and when the fire drove the beasts into a mad frenzy, they had found a full-blown battle on their hands.

Despite everything, the group managed to contain the situation, until Tauriel got overconfident again and promptly got grabbed by one of the irate spiders. In fear for his friend and before anyone could react, Barhador had flung himself at the beast, freeing Tauriel but getting crushed under the fatally wounded body of the monster. With its last dying convulsions, the beast had slid over the edge of the ravine, dragging Barhador along. In a last desperate attempt to save their comrade, Legolas and Thalanir had jumped, too – indeed succeeding in catching Barhador, but luck had not been on their side. One of the spider's legs had hooked around the unfortunate warrior's neck, breaking it instantly. However, Legolas and Thalanir could not know that. Hanging off the side of the ravine, they held their comrade between them, determined to get him to safety. But the sliding fall of the gigantic cadaver had also set off an avalanche of rocks and, their dead comrade's limp body held between them and themselves desperately clinging to a small ledge, Legolas and Thalanir had been battered, resulting in the majority of their injuries.

While the entire group agreed that the tragedy was an – however avoidable – accident, Tauriel refused to take responsibility for the part she had played in it. Sure, she was heartbroken about the loss of her comrade ... her friend ... but she kept insisting the group should have gone with her plan in the first place, despite having been given clear orders to the contrary.

It was most disconcerting.

At least the Elvenking now knew the meaning of what Legolas had told him, and he also knew why he wanted him to talk to both Tauriel _and_ Feren. His chief diplomat had been Tauriel's teacher longer than any other. He knew her best, so surely he would be able to shed light on her behaviour.

But not tonight. Tonight, the Elvenking had reached his limits of patience and good-will. He was weary. He was sad. He was worried.

There was only one thing that Thranduil was going to do tonight.

With a sigh, he took off his crown, shed his royal robes and put out the candles in his study.

Tonight, all he was going to be was a father.

\\*/*\\*/

Thranduil quietly entered the room in the halls of healing that currently held his son. Legolas seemed to be sleeping peacefully and the king was loath to disturb him. Having promised to come and take him home, however, Thranduil settled in a chair beside the bed. Very carefully he wrapped his fingers around his son's wrist, resting them against the pulse point and finally allowing himself to take comfort in the steady thrum of his child's heartbeat.

As he listened to the quiet, even breaths and ran his eyes over the already healing bruises in Legolas' face, he found himself swept under by a wave of emotions: gratitude for having his son back safe and relatively sound, and dread at what could have been.

He managed to draw a stuttering breath against the sudden onslaught of pain, but the warm hand on his shoulder threatened to shatter his fragile composure.

"Take heart, _mellon-nín_." Sadron's familiar voice was quiet and very close. "He will fully recover from his injuries."

Thranduil gave a tiny nod, not trusting himself to speak. The healer seemed to notice his agitation, so he stepped even closer, a solid presence for the distraught father to lean into without abandoning his royal poise entirely. He squeezed his old friend's shoulder reassuringly, whispering words of comfort and hope.

After a few minutes, the tight knot of fear loosened a bit and the king found it easier to breathe once more. "May I stay here?" he asked quietly, finally finding his voice. "I would like to be there when he wakes up."

"I assumed you would," Sadron replied drily, eliciting a small smile from the king. They had had exactly one discussion about Thranduil staying with his son when he was injured, around three centuries ago, settling the matter once and for all. Still, Sadron appreciated the respect the king showed him by asking, and his voice softened again. "Have you eaten?"

Thranduil gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am not hungry."

Sadron suppressed a sigh. "I shall bring you a cup of tea, then." He disappeared, returning only moments later with two cups, one of which he handed to Thranduil.

For the first time this evening the king tore his gaze away from his son and looked up at the head healer. "Thank you, Sadron. For everything."

The healer slightly shook his head and sipped at his tea. "There is no need to thank me, Thranduil. You know I love Legolas as if he were my own. I am only grateful to have him back alive. When I first saw them ..."

He neither could nor needed to say more. This could have ended so much worse, as both of them knew all too well.

The two old friends finished their tea, after which Sadron announced apologetically that he had to wake both of his patients to make sure their head wounds were causing no ill effects.

He started with Thalanir, who promptly (and grumpily) supplied the desired responses, turned on his side as much as his injuries allowed, and fell back asleep.

Legolas woke just as swiftly, well-oriented but visibly in pain. Sadron left to prepare some medicine for him, giving father and son an undisturbed moment. "Did you speak to everyone?" the prince asked almost immediately.

Thranduil resisted the urge to sigh. His son was much more like him than he liked to admit. "I spoke to everyone except for Feren and Thalanir," he reassured the prince. "And you, of course."

Legolas averted his gaze. "Then you know I failed as a commander. I am deeply sorry."

Now the king _did_ sigh. He rose from his chair and carefully sat down on the edge of his son's bed. "Nobody said anything of the sort. Now is not the time to speak of it at length, but let me tell you this: as a commander you have to be able to trust your soldiers to follow orders. You simply cannot be with them at all times to make sure they do."

"I know that," Legolas ground out in frustration. "But I should have known better than to put Tauriel and Barhador on the same patrol, knowing that there was some ... attachment between them."

Thranduil smiled sadly. "From what I have heard, the attachment was rather one-sided."

His son shrugged non-committally, wincing in pain as the movement jarred his recently dislocated shoulder. "All the more reason to separate them."

The king once more took hold of his son's hand and squeezed it firmly. "As I was saying, now is not the time to speak of this. Let it go for a while. Your only task now is to rest and heal. Do you understand?"

Legolas nodded and looked up at his father. "But you must rest, too, _adar_. This has been a hard day for you as well."

Thranduil inclined his head minutely. "It has," he agreed. "This is a day of sadness for the entire realm." Lifting a hand to his son's face, he gently traced the deep bruising along his cheekbone before adding softly: "And I will never get used to letting you go out into danger, let alone seeing you come back injured."

Legolas closed his eyes and leant into the comforting touch. "I wish I could have saved him," he whispered.

"He made his own choices," the king reminded him gently.

"I know that," the prince repeated, this time more dejected than aggravated. "But he did not deserve this."

For a long while, silence fell over the room. Eventually Sadron returned and helped Legolas take the pain medicine he had prepared. Then Thranduil asked: "Can I take my son home? I am sure he would be more comfortable in his own bed."

But before Sadron could answer, Legolas spoke up. "If you do not mind, _adar_ , I would prefer to stay here until Thalanir's family arrive to take care of him. They live on the outskirts of the forest and will not likely be here before tomorrow evening. I do not want him to be alone in his grief. Barhador was his best friend, after all."

Thranduil's features softened in affection. Whatever Legolas thought of his own skills as a commander at the moment, his sense of duty and his compassion showed more than anything that his heart and priorities were in the right place – and this was something he valued more than anything, both as a father and as a king.

"Of course, Legolas," he replied warmly. "Only allow me to stay with you, else I will find no rest tonight."


	3. Memories of you

_**A/N: Back with a new chapter! If you've read my LOTR fic "Not easily broken", you'll meet a familiar face here. If not, I hope you'll like them anyway.**_

 _ **Disclaimers from chapter 1 still apply (and shall for evermore, since I don't see myself buying out Peter Jackson or the Tolkien estate ...)**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 3: Memories of you**

Tauriel sat in her room, staring into the roaring fire in the fireplace, still in a daze about the events of the day. Even after recounting the incident to her king, she still did not understand what had gone so wrong, and why. She had been so sure that her – albeit risky – plan would work out. Nobody was supposed to get hurt, let alone killed. Sure, she had disobeyed an order, but she had truly thought the risks to be calculable. It was beyond her why her captain was so overly cautious in his decisions. If only they dared to take a few more chances, the spider infestation might not be so severe. They might even be able to drive the foul creatures back to their source and thus eliminate them entirely. So why on _Arda_ would they not?

But none of that changed the fact that Barhador was dead. Tears of loss filled Tauriel's eyes; she had really liked the handsome young soldier. Maybe not in the way that he had liked her, but he had been exciting and fun to be around, and she had quite enjoyed his company and attention. Now, however, her friend was dead because he had tried to protect her. A sliver of guilt cut through her sadness. Even if she had no qualms about disobeying orders if she felt it was the right thing to do, she should not have taunted him the way she had. Her flippant words had hurt him – she had seen it in his eyes.

And now it was too late to apologise.

\\*/*\\*/

In the healing rooms, an uneventful night segued into a quiet morning. The Elvenking reluctantly took his leave from his son's bedside to return to his duties, though not without the promise to come back as soon as he possibly could.

Both patients were subjected to the usual routines of being examined, having their bandages changed, and being given medicines. Both were still subdued and in pain, but at least they were healing well; and Sadron declared them ready to leave by the next day.

Soon after breakfast, Galion entered the room, Amdirwen in tow. After enquiries about the warriors' well-being, the royal aide explained their presence to a surprised Legolas: "His Majesty requested that we attend to your and Thalanir's needs for the day. I might have to return to other duties in the afternoon, but Amdirwen will stay as long as you like."

"That is very thoughtful but quite unnecessary," Legolas replied cautiously, not wanting to reject their kindness but mortified at the thought of being waited on by his father's personal staff.

"His Majesty expressly requested it," Galion stated drily, quirking an eyebrow in that familiar fashion that said he was not going to get in Thranduil's way when he was in full Papa Bear mode.

"But surely Amdirwen should be resting?" Legolas countered softly, a faint blush appearing on his pale and bruised cheeks.

"I am with child, not wounded, my Prince," the royal seamstress replied with a mild smile. "And whether I sit at my desk or here really makes no difference."

Secretly, Legolas was glad of the couple's presence. They were as dear as family to him, with Galion often taking the role of a slightly older brother and Amdirwen acting as a sister with a distinct maternal touch. Having them here for company, even though there was not much to do for them, was a great comfort.

They hadn't been there for very long when the door opened again and Elros made an entrance. Thalanir turned his head towards Legolas as far as his injuries allowed. " _Someone's_ worried about you not keeping bed rest, it seems," he commented, a spark of humour entering his grief-clouded eyes.

The royal guard grinned for a brief moment before turning to Thalanir. "Actually, I am here for you. Your family has arrived."

And just like that, the hint of levity fled from the room again.

Thalanir gave a slight nod and breathed a quiet sigh. "Thank you for escorting them. It was very kind of you to do it personally."

Elros stepped forward and briefly clasped Thalanir's uninjured wrist. "I wanted to see how you are doing. Carrying you back here yesterday was not the most wonderful experience of my life, cousin."

"I'll live," Thalanir muttered gloomily, a whole world of guilt wrapped up in the short words.

Undeterred, and not unfamiliar with what his cousin was going through, Elros wrapped his fingers around Thalanir's hand, nothing but compassion in his warm brown eyes. "Yes, you will."

\\*/*\\*/

With Thalanir's family there to take care of him, Legolas was finally free to go home. Galion helped him get dressed, and between the trusty aide, his wife, and Sadron, they managed to manoeuvre the prince towards the royal wing with relative ease.

"Your rooms or your father's?" Galion asked at the junction of two hallways, one of which led to the private quarters of king and prince, and the other to the rooms of their personal staff.

"Actually, if you do not mind, may I stay with you, please, until my father returns? I really do not feel like being alone just now," Legolas replied. It was a testimony to the depth of their friendship that he uttered the request at all, let alone without shame at his need for companionship.

"Of course you may," Amdirwen replied warmly. "But would you not feel more comfortable in your own rooms? We could keep you company there."

The prince shook his head, belatedly remembering his injuries and wincing at the pain. "If it is no trouble, I would rather be at your place. Just put me in a chair and go about your usual business. There is no need to entertain me. I think I would simply like to have ... life happening around me."

The other three looked at him silently for a moment; then Amdirwen nodded. "Of course. I understand. Our quarters it is."

And that was how the prince found himself in a comfortable chair in Amdirwen's drawing room, surrounded by the soothing sound of chalks on paper as she worked on a design for the king's new robe.

For a while Legolas watched her, content and half asleep, smiling a little as her face reflected exactly what she was thinking about every stroke on her handiwork. Galion sat at the desk in the corner, writing up some report or other, his quill gliding over the parchment with a soft scratch. Occasionally the couple would look up, look at Legolas, look at each other with gentle glances. Absent-mindedly, Amdirwen's hand wandered to her abdomen, and a soft glow coloured her cheeks, presumably at the flutter of movement she felt from her unborn child.

Legolas caught the tender gesture and smiled wistfully, his thoughts starting to wander to the mother he had never consciously known. Had she carried him with the same joyful expectation? Had she loved him as much as Amdirwen obviously loved her child, even though she had not seen it yet? And if so ... why had his mother left him?

Unbidden tears rose to his eyes, and it was only owing to his injuries and the trauma of the previous day that he lacked the strength to hold them back. By simple coincidence, Galion looked up again at that very moment and saw the glistening trail of tears on the prince's pale cheeks. Without a word he rose from his seat and crossed the room, crouching beside Legolas' chair and putting a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder. "Are you in pain?" he asked quietly. "Should I fetch Sadron ... or your father?"

"No, thank you," Legolas managed in a half-choked whisper. "It is just ... memories." Memories that never were, but how was he to put that into words?

Galion nodded, unaware of which memories Legolas was referring to but sympathetic as to how they could throw one off-track in unguarded moments. Leaving one hand on the prince's shoulder, he wrapped his other hand around Legolas' wrist and gave it a brotherly squeeze. "Take your time," he whispered, fully focussed on the prince but aware that his wife had risen from her place and gone to the kitchen, probably to get a cup of tea for their friend.

"I am sorry," Legolas murmured, a little embarrassed for his display of emotions.

"There is nothing to be sorry for," Galion reassured him. "Cry if you need to. You are safe here with us."

\\*/*\\*/

Meanwhile a very different conversation was taking place in the Elvenking's study. Tucked away in a quiet corner between bookshelves, Thranduil and Feren sat, chairs half-facing each other, discussing the events of the previous day.

"You probably wonder why I would want to talk to you, Lord Feren," the king stated after supplying drinks for himself and his chief diplomat.

"I have indeed," his companion replied, "given that I was not even remotely involved in yesterday's happenings."

"Legolas advised me to do so," the king explained. "And I agree that you might be a good person to talk to about Tauriel. Of everyone at court, you have known her the longest, and you probably know her the best."

Feren exhaled a long sigh. "So it is true? She is the reason for whatever went wrong?"

Thranduil gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "I have not spoken to everyone involved yet, so I am not yet ready to pass a final judgment on yesterday's incident."

Feren hid the small smile that tugged at his lips behind his cup of water. Contrary to his infamous reputation of being impulsive and dangerously temperamental, the Elvenking was actually a circumspect and thoughtful person with a deeply ingrained sense of fairness and justice. Things would have to be more than dire for him to be driven to rash decisions.

"So what do you want to know?" Feren asked.

The king thought for a moment longer, carefully considering how to pose his questions in a neutral, open-ended way.

"Tell me about Tauriel's education and training. Specifically, tell me how she came to be in the palace guard."

"Well, in school she seemed to show special promise in terms of mental and physical agility, so she was brought to my attention for higher education. She was indeed a curious, attentive student. Her aptitude for finding quick, creative solutions to difficult problems was remarkable, although at times a bit on the daring, risky side. She completed the full military training programme, as well as the royal guards' advanced training, with highest distinction. Especially her skills as an archer are impressive. She has proven to be a good pick for the palace guard – so far."

Just like his king, Feren kept his answer as neutral as possible, although he had a fairly good idea about the direction this conversation would eventually take.

"What about her character?"

The chief diplomat shrugged a little. "As I said – she's curious, adventurous, unafraid. And she is still young, so she is mostly carefree. She was so young when she was orphaned that she has no memory of the event. Having grown up in the orphanage, however, she has no concept of family bonds, blood or otherwise."

Thranduil regarded him thoughtfully. "What about loyalty?" he asked after a moment.

Feren leant back in his chair, taking another sip of water. "That is a difficult question, sire. Tauriel is a natural leader, so others tend to show her loyalty fairly quickly, rather than the reverse. I sometimes wonder whether she recognises, or is even aware of, the responsibility that comes with that."

The king gave an almost invisible nod. "What about chain-of-command?"

And there it was. With a carefully neutral expression, Feren replied: "She skirts the line, sometimes. No outright insubordination, though, as far as I am aware ... at least until now."

Thranduil sighed, put aside his cup and rose from his chair. "Thank you, Lord Feren. You have been most helpful."

"Always at your service, Your Majesty," the chief diplomat replied solemnly, getting up to leave.

"I do have one last question." The Elvenking's hesitant voice stopped him in his tracks. "However, I will not demand an answer if it makes you uncomfortable."

"What is it, sire?"

"Would you trust Tauriel with your life?"

"I would trust her to defend it to the best of her abilities," Feren answered truthfully. Then, almost as an afterthought: "Though she might well have been the one who put it in danger in the first place."


	4. Not alone in this fight

_**A/N: Back with a new chapter. Sorry it's a bit short, but it fits the flow of the story better like that.**_

 _ **A warm welcome to all new followers, and a special thank you to Hawaiichick, who has faithfully reviewed every chapter so far. I think that her reviews are beginning to feel a little lonely, though. So if you've taken the time to read – and thank you for that! – how about you take a few more moments and drop me a line?**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: If I had to make money with this, I'd starve ...**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 4: Not alone in this fight**

Amdirwen had just finished her lunch preparations when there was a knock on the front door of her and Galion's quarters. Drying her hands on a towel, she went to open, and was startled, though not entirely surprised, to find the Elvenking standing outside.

"Your Majesty!" she greeted him and curtsied, eliciting a low sound of dismay from Thranduil. "How many times have I asked you not to do that, my lady?" he said softly, stopping her in mid-movement with a gentle hand to her elbow.

Amdirwen looked up at him with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "At least as often as I have requested that you not call me 'my lady'," she replied. The king chuckled at their private joke and inclined his head in agreement. "Sadron told me my son was here?" he then half asked, half stated.

"He is. Please come in, my lord." And Amdirwen stepped aside to let Thranduil enter. "We were just about to have lunch. Would you do us the honour of joining us, my lord?"

Thranduil gave an appreciative smile at the mouth-watering aroma that drifted over from the small private kitchen. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Amdirwen. But may I ask first ..." He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "How has my son been this morning?"

Amdirwen's eyes softened. "His wounds seem to be healing well and he does not seem to be in too much pain, bodily pain at least. His heart, though, might take a while longer to recover from recent events."

Thranduil tried – and failed – not to look worried about her last remark, so Amdirwen felt the need to clarify. "It seems the entire weight of what has happened is coming down on his soul only now, as the first shock is passing."

The king nodded gravely. This was serious but normal, something he could deal with. "Thank you for looking after him," he replied sincerely, inclining his head once more.

"It is no burden, Your Majesty. Legolas is one of our dearest friends. He is always welcome here." With that, Amdirwen opened the door to her drawing room and led the king to his son.

Thranduil lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking in Legolas' pale face and red-rimmed eyes. Then, with firm resolve, he crossed the room with a few silent strides and crouched beside the chair where his son was resting.

Sensing his father's presence, the prince opened his eyes, his features relaxing immediately at seeing the tender smile. " _Ada_ , you are here!"

" _Tithen lass-nín_ ," the king whispered, running a hand over the golden head before gathering Legolas into his arms with the greatest care.

The prince wrapped his uninjured arm around his father's back, drinking in the love and affection that flooded his _f_ _ë_ _a_ at the touch. "I have missed you," he admitted in a nearly inaudible voice.

"Oh, I have missed you, too, _ion-nín_. I am here to take you home."

Tightening the hold he had on his father even more, Legolas nodded into Thranduil's shoulder. "Yes, please," he murmured.

The king looked apologetically at Amdirwen. "I am afraid I will have to take you up on your kind offer at a later time, my lady. Please convey my apologies to Galion."

Amdirwen nodded sympathetically. "I could send you lunch over, if you wish?" she offered.

"That would be most kind, Lady Amdirwen," Thranduil accepted with an appreciative smile.

" _Goheno-nín_ ," Legolas apologised, mortified at his fragility, but Amdirwen wouldn't hear of it.

"There is nothing to forgive, my prince," she replied, putting a comforting hand on his good arm. "Just get well soon."

And with a last thankful nod, Thranduil lifted his son and carried him off to their private rooms.

\\*/*\\*/

With orders that he not be disturbed with court matters for the rest of the day, the Elvenking sent the guards to stand watch outside the main door to the royal quarters. Then he shut the door of his antechamber and went back to his bedroom, where he had placed Legolas on his bed to await his return. Finally alone with his son, Thranduil allowed himself a moment of letting down his guard. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and, letting out a long sigh, touched his forehead to his son's. Just for a moment he permitted the shock, grief, anger, and relief of the last two days to fully enter his soul. Death, although still rare, managed to creep ever more deeply into his realm, and he was powerless to stop it. Sooner or later he would have to take drastic measures to find and eradicate the source of this evil. He dreaded the very thought of it.

Cool fingers wrapped around his own and gave a reassuring squeeze. "You are not alone in this fight, _adar_."

Thranduil nodded without opening his eyes or lifting his head from where it rested against his son's temple. "I know," he replied quietly. "But in a way that makes it even worse. How many more of our people will have to die until this darkness is vanquished? What will it take? What if the next time you do not come home to me?" His rich voice cracked into a pained whisper and he curled an arm around Legolas' shoulders, carefully pulling him slightly closer.

"I am still here," his son reminded him gently, nestling into his embrace and squeezing his hand more firmly. "And I will do everything in my power to help you free our realm from this darkness. You know I will, as long as I draw breath."

The proud king stifled a sound of distress. "I would rather you kept drawing breath forever," he replied with fierce emphasis.

" _Adar_ ...," Legolas sighed. This was not their first conversation along these lines, but he would repeat his words until his stubborn father finally believed them. "My first and foremost duty is to protect you, as my father and king. My second duty is to protect the Woodland Realm, which brings me back to my first duty of protecting her king."

"Then I hereby place on you a third duty," Thranduil replied passionately. "Stay alive, for if you die, Eryn Galen will lose her king as well!"

It took Thranduil considerable effort to pull himself together after his emotional outburst. His hand rested against Legolas' head protectively, and the feeling of his son's life flowing under his fingertips finally helped slow his frantic heartbeat. "Forgive me, _ion-nín_. I did not mean to burden you with my weakness."

"No, _adar_. This is no weakness," the prince disagreed with as much vehemence as he could muster. "And I will always wish you to share your burdens with me. The only way we can protect this kingdom is _together_." He paused, and when he spoke again, his melodious voice dropped to a mournful whisper. "I just wish _naneth_ was still here, to share the load and to shine a light into this darkness."

Helpless tears ran from the young warrior's eyes, wetting his father's fingers that rested on his cheek. The king gently brushed them away, all his senses reaching out to alleviate his son's pain "Aye, _ion-nín_ ," he replied in a low voice. "I wish that, too." Without further thought, he lay down beside his son and carefully pulled him into his arms, holding him for a long time until their hearts beat in time and the turmoil in their _fëar_ subsided. "Sleep, child. Things will feel less heavy when you have slept," he murmured soothingly.

Legolas nodded against his shoulder and pulled his father's hand to his chest.

On the verge of falling asleep, though, Thranduil caught his son's last whispered words that would haunt him for months to come. "Why did she leave? Did she not love us enough to stay?"


	5. Lack of recognition

_**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews on the previous chapter(s), especially the guest to whom I cannot reply personally.**_

 _ **Today's chapter is a little longer, to make up for the fact that I perhaps won't be able to post for two weeks. I already have a large chunk of the story written out, but I still have a lot of typing and fine-tuning to do, and the end of the year is always a stressful time business-wise. So please forgive me if I go on a very short hiatus.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: The usual. Don't own, never will.**_

 _ **Reviews are fluffy white snowflakes on a grey November day.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 5: Lack of recognition**

Over the next few days the court of the Woodland Realm seemed to be in a state of ambivalent suspension. Between the burial ceremony for the fallen warrior and the ongoing investigation of the events which had led to his death, things were busy in a slow, sluggish sort of way. Thranduil felt like he was constantly changing roles – supreme commander of his troops, ruler of the realm, and of course worried father –, and it was exhausting.

The king was away from his son far more often than he was comfortable with, because Legolas had fallen into a strange jumble of moods. Anger, guilt, grief, frustration, and confusion about it all, seemed to be warring within his _f_ _ë_ _a_ incessantly. His wounds were healing nicely and Sadron agreed to allow him out in the gardens, if he so wished, but the crown prince seemed uncharacteristically reluctant to leave his quarters. Or, more precisely, his father's quarters, because this was where he had apparently taken up permanent residence. Not that Thranduil minded – he rather relished having his only child close by as often as he could. But still, it was very much unlike Legolas and did nothing to ease the Elvenking's worries.

Since the investigation was drawing to a conclusion, one duty could not be postponed any longer, namely, to have Legolas' account of the ill-fated patrol recorded formally. It was a duty that Thranduil would have preferred to perform in private, but that could not be. He had to remain as neutral in the matter as he possibly could, and Legolas was, after all, not only his son but a captain of his guard. Thus, he referred the task of questioning the crown prince to his most trusted advisors, while he himself remained absent from the conversation, only requesting the written record to read afterwards.

When he did, it contained no surprises. Tauriel and Barhador had disregarded a direct order, and Barhador had lost his life in the resulting events.

Secretly, the king had hoped that actively remembering and recounting the events would help his son to sort through his feelings, relieving the burden on his soul in the process, but that was not to be, it seemed. If anything, the prince appeared to be even more agitated. Frankly, it puzzled the Elvenking.

After two more days of helplessly watching his son's silent battle with himself, Thranduil's concern overpowered his patience and he decided to approach Legolas directly.

"I had a look at next month's patrol rota," he remarked casually over lunch at their private quarters. "I was surprised to see your name nowhere on it. Do your injuries continue to ail you, _ion-nín_?"

"No, _adar_. I am as well as I can possibly be under the circumstances," Legolas answered, just briefly meeting his father's gaze and then resuming his staring contest with his barely-touched meal.

"That does not answer my question, _íon_ ," Thranduil replied kindly. "And your appetite does nothing to reassure me, if I may say so."

Legolas just sighed and carefully set down his fork beside his plate. "I do not feel fit to lead any patrol at the moment," he admitted very quietly.

"But whyever not? The investigation has proved that no fault falls on you for what happened. Your decisions were sound, and from what I have heard and read, you handled the crisis admirably."

Though this was high praise indeed coming from the Elvenking, Legolas hardly took note of it. "That does not mean I was not at fault, though," he whispered.

Thranduil was about to ask what he meant by that when Legolas' words from the day of the tragedy came back to him: _I should have known better than to put Tauriel and Barhador on the same patrol ..._

"Are you still blaming yourself for expecting professionalism from two well-trained warriors?" he asked, biting sarcasm creeping into his words.

Legolas averted his eyes even more, which gave Thranduil pause. "Or is there anything else weighing on your mind?"

The prince reluctantly raised his eyes to meet his father's at the gentle but firm tone. "I do not understand how she could do that to him! Does she not comprehend what a fragile thing the heart is? She was playing with his affection for her in order to achieve her goal, without regard for the cost. – And what kind of leader am I to have failed to see the severity of the situation, and to prevent this horrible outcome?"

The words left his mouth in a rush, and the confusion and sense of failure nearly strangled him as he looked at his father with pleading eyes.

Whatever confession the ancient king had anticipated, this was not it. The raw emotion bleeding from his son's entire being drove a sharp pain through his heart. He sat forward, taking Legolas' hands and squeezing them tightly.

"You could not have known," he replied quietly. "Nobody saw this coming. But if you think Tauriel was playing with Barhador's affection, is this something you suspected before or simply a realisation in hindsight?"

Legolas gaze turned thoughtful. "I think I saw _something_ , but I did not recognise it for what it was until it was too late," he mused. "It is not like I am very experienced in these things myself," he added drily ... and somewhat shyly.

Ah.

"You were not sure what constitutes regular female behaviour, so you had no way of judging Tauriel's behaviour with regard to its ... normalcy?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Thranduil winced at how ridiculous they sounded. This was almost as bad as the time when he had tried to explain where babies come from.

By some miracle, however, they worked, because Legolas nodded, obviously relieved that his father understood. "Yes, precisely! I did not want to judge her unfairly just because I do not know how _ellyth_ are supposed to behave around _ellyn_. The only _elleth_ I know who actually seems to have a happy relationship is Amdirwen, and she is ... well, she is _Amdirwen_!" he finished as if this explained everything.

And while Thranduil smiled at his son's last remark and his childlike fondness of Galion's sweet, gentle wife, cold dread settled in his stomach at the implications of Legolas' words.

Every female attachment figure in his son's life had left. His mother. Lady Celebrían. Even Arwen, who had been like a sister to the young prince, had withdrawn into permanent seclusion. For centuries there had been a gaping hole in Legolas' life, and it had only grown larger with time. And there was nothing he could do about this emptiness in his precious son's heart.

He could, however, relate to the uncertainty the young captain felt. "That does not make you a bad leader," the king offered thoughtfully. "A soldier is a soldier, no matter their gender. They need to follow orders. It is _vital_. Personal sensitivities have no place in a battle, and we train extremely hard to make sure we are in full command of ourselves, body, mind, and spirit, in any fight. So whether or not you know your way around _ellyth –_ be that as it may – plays no part in this discussion. It _cannot_."

Legolas slumped back in his chair, huffing a frustrated sigh. "That is easy for you to say," he murmured, "with all the battles you have fought in your life."

To his son's utmost surprise, Thranduil laughed at that. " _Ion-nín_ , did it ever occur to you that I fought all those battles _before_ I met your mother, and _after_ my own mother sailed? Back then, I knew nothing more or less about the fair gender than you do. And if you want a few embarrassing stories about that, just ask Lord Elrond. Everyone joked that we would sooner marry each other than succeed in courting an _elleth_ for marriage."

The crown prince stared at his father as if he'd grown two heads. He could somewhat imagine the introverted Lord Elrond to be shy around _ellyth_ , but not the formidable Elvenking.

Thranduil seemed to read his son's mind, for he chuckled at Legolas' bafflement. "I was not always five thousand years old," he teased him gently. Then he grew serious again. "But all that is to say that your perceived lack of experience in that area does not diminish your aptitude as a commander. Matters of the heart have no place in battle."

Even with Lord Elrond's gift of foresight the Elvenking could not have known that this hard-won conviction would painfully be put to the test all too soon.

\\*/*\\*/

"My lord Legolas! Please come quickly!" An out-of-breath young warrior skidded to a halt in front of the crown prince.

"What on _Arda_ is the matter?" Legolas replied, already on his feet because obviously the recruit just barely stopped himself from grabbing the prince's arm and dragging him along.

"Tauriel turned up at training, and Thalanir looks like he is ready to commit kinslaying!"

This was a serious matter indeed. Ever since the incident, the senior officers had gone to great lengths to keep the two apart, for the tension between them was so thick and heavy, you could cut it with a knife.

"What? How can that be? I know for a fact that they were assigned to different groups," Legolas wondered aloud, falling into a trot beside the young warrior. As they rounded the corner to the training rooms he could already hear angry raised voices. Something told Legolas he might not be able to defuse the situation by himself so he took aside the recruit. "Get Lord Feren or Captain Elros," he said under his breath. "And be quick about it!"

The young warrior saluted and hurried off while the prince slowed his pace and stopped for a few short moments to listen to the heated exchange. _Always gather as much information as you safely can before involving yourself in conflict_ , his father's voice echoed in his mind.

"Why are you so upset about this? Do you hate me so much that you cannot even grant me the common courtesy of a fellow warrior?" That was Tauriel, and her words sounded like an accusation rather than the apology that she probably should have offered.

"This is not about my personal feelings, Tauriel, and you know it, so do not try to make this about me!" Thalanir was just barely restraining himself – an admirable feat given the circumstances. "This is about you not being able to follow clear orders!"

"Are you out of your mind? Of course I follow orders, just like any soldier!" Tauriel's voice rose an octave in indignation.

"Only so long as it suits you! Need I remind you exactly why Barhador is dead? Was that you following orders?"

Legolas flinched. This situation was about to escalate, and he should probably intervene, but part of him wanted to hear whatever explanation Tauriel was surely about to offer.

"These orders were _rubbish_ , and all of that would _never_ have happened if we had gone with _my_ plan in the first place!"

A peek around the corner showed Thalanir taking a few steps back, physically distancing him from the temptation of hitting the other warrior. "Are you listening to yourself?" he hissed. "These orders were given to you by your commanding officer, just like today's orders to train with the recruits!"

"But they were _wrong_!"

Legolas had heard enough. It took all of his willpower not to let his rage show, so he purposefully drew a deep breath to calm himself. Then he rounded the corner.

"What is going on?" he demanded in a tone that few had heard so far, and those who had knew better than to do anything but snap to attention.

Thalanir did, Tauriel did not.

"There seems to have been a mix-up with the training schedules, my lord Legolas," the red-haired warrior answered smoothly. "Nothing to concern yourself with, surely, my lord."

"I am in the habit of deciding myself with what to concern myself or not," the prince replied coolly, satisfied to see a first uncertain flicker in Tauriel's overly confident expression. "That being said, I was shown the training schedules for approval, and I do not recall finding any fault with them."

"But my lord, I usually train with the elite forces, not with the recruits!" Tauriel blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Your point being?" Legolas asked, meeting her confused gaze steadily.

And suddenly Tauriel understood. "Is this punishment for what happened the other day?" she spat.

The crown prince stepped closer until he was almost toe to toe with the defiant warrior. "What 'happened the other day' was the entirely avoidable death of a fellow Firstborn, soldier! It happened because both of you defied a direct order. Barhador paid with his life for this mistake, but I will do everything in my power to prevent a repetition of such a tragedy. So until, and only if, your commanding officers deem you fully able and willing to follow the chain of command, you will undergo the full training process once more, from the very beginning, since you seem to have forgotten this vital part of your duty."

There was steel in Legolas' voice, eyes, and posture that Tauriel had never cared to acknowledge before this moment. It seemed she had completely underestimated the king's son. She stared at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. "You want me to retrain?" she whispered.

From the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Feren approaching and decided that it was time to defuse the volatile situation. "Thalanir, please meet me in my study in one hour," he requested quietly. Any more defiance on Tauriel's part would only rub salt into the other warrior's all too fresh wounds. It also wouldn't help Tauriel's attitude if she was put on the spot before a fellow soldier.

Thalanir withdrew immediately with a brisk salute, grateful for the opportunity to escape before he forgot himself.

When he was gone, the crown prince turned his attention back to Tauriel. "It grieves me to see that you apparently fail to recognise your part in all this. Perhaps you are even unwilling to acknowledge it." He paused briefly, his bright, sharp eyes burning through her air of defensiveness. "You are a fine warrior, but your lack of responsibility is a danger to yourself and others."

Tauriel opened her mouth to speak, but Legolas raised a hand, indicating that he was not finished yet.

"I will leave you to Lord Feren's wise tutelage. Please regard this as the second chance that it is, but know this: there will not be a third."

And with that he turned and left, leaving Tauriel to stare after him in a state of shock.


	6. Reluctant decisions

_**A/N: Hello, dear readers! I hope December started well for you. I am back with the next chapter, though due to a lot of end-of-year stress I think the best I can do is to post every other week. I hope you'll stick with this story anyway.**_

 _ **A giant thank you to Hawaiichick who has faithfully reviewed every chapter so far. Your comments always make my day!**_

 _ **Please note: This chapter picks up around twenty years after chapter 5.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Please refer to the other chapters. I dislike repeating myself, or stating the obvious.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 6: Reluctant decisions**

\\*/*\\*/

 _ **Mirkwood, a few weeks before the arrival of the dwarves.**_

"I do not like it."

Legolas and Feren exchanged a knowing glance. The Elvenking saying that he did not like something was almost always tantamount to outright dismissal.

"Neither do I, but it might be the only way to resolve the matter," Legolas made one last attempt at persuading his father.

Predictably, Thranduil's eyes shot up to meet his son's gaze. "I am also highly suspicious of so-called only options," he snapped.

"I am aware," Legolas replied drily. "Which brings us back to my original question: do you have a better idea?"

Intrigued by the prince's bluntness, Feren almost raised an eyebrow at the challenge. No one, not even his own son, spoke to the Elvenking in such a manner ... usually. But this was a highly unusual situation. For the first time in centuries, and certainly for the first time since Legolas had reached adulthood, demotion and dismissal from service of a member of the royal guard was being discussed.

Thranduil sighed and sat back down at his desk, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers in front of his face in a pensive gesture. "Do we really not have any indication as to why she is behaving in such an ... erratic manner? Is she not happy in this realm? Would she like to leave?"

Again, Legolas exchanged looks with Feren. This was a question that had troubled them ever since that fateful day twenty years ago when Barhador had died due to Tauriel's impulsive insubordination. In the five following years, she had gone through the entire training process once more without a word of complaint, and after passing all exams, she had done her best to regain her standing in the royal guard. She had also worked to regain the trust of her comrades, but that was hard to come by. Although nobody except for Thalanir outright refused to work with her, she was still somewhat isolated and being treated with rather wary civility.

But in the past year, Tauriel had started to venture to the borders of the Woodland Realm by herself – and sometimes even beyond, as the border guard had reported. She did not exactly do it in secret, to be sure, but it was strange. When asked about what she was doing, she seemed to be unable to give a definite reason for her excursions. Maybe she didn't know herself. In any case, it was deeply troubling, considering the growing darkness that was spreading ever more rapidly through the forest, and indeed throughout Middle Earth, if reports from the other Elven realms were to be believed.

"We do not know. She will not, or cannot tell. When asked about it, she would only say that sometimes the darkness in the forest steals her breath and she needs to breathe the free air again."

However gently delivered, Feren's honest words seemed to shrink the larger-than-life Elvenking to a mere shadow of himself. "We all need that," he murmured. "Would that I could effect that for all my people ..."

With a long exhale he closed his eyes, his face briefly contorting in pain, but the moment passed quickly and he pulled himself to his feet and to his full height again. "Very well. I can hardly fault her for that. But I want her watched closely. So even if I do not like it one bit, I am willing to go along with this insanity. On one condition –" He paused, glaring at his son and raising a hand when Legolas made to speak. "Feren stays nearby, and I want Elros included in this as well. He needs to be in on this so he and the guard can react swiftly if worse comes to worst."

"Aye, sire!" both the chief diplomat and the crown prince replied, relieved that the king was finally listening to their concerns. They turned to leave, but Thranduil was not quite done yet. "Legolas, I have something more to discuss with you," he said in a tone that his son knew to obey without question. So Feren exited, leaving Legolas standing in the middle of his father's study in slight apprehension.

"Yes, _adar_?" he offered when Thranduil seemed to struggle for words, or maybe just the right way to ask the question that was apparently on his mind.

"How ... how has Tauriel been doing concerning the ... other part of the issue?" the king finally enquired.

A strange little smile appeared on the prince's face – not his usual, friendly, open one but rather a bitter, cynic one that reminded Thranduil far too much of the expression he often saw when he looked in the mirror. "You mean the part where she tries to manipulate all _ellyn_ into doing her bidding by flirting with them?" Legolas' voice cut through the air like a knife covered in acid.

Thranduil sighed. "So she has learned nothing on that front, I take it?"

His son snorted. "Believe it or not, but she's been trying it on _me_ lately. Why do you think I want to be on that mission personally? I do not want another unsuspecting warrior to fall victim to that."

But his father had only half listened to what had come after _trying it on me_. "She has been doing _what_?" he burst out in indignation.

Very uncharacteristically, Legolas strode over to the table where a carafe of fine wine and clean goblets were waiting for occasions like this, poured himself a cup and knocked it back. "She even seems to think I do not notice. Oh yes, she's subtle about it, but inexperienced though I might be, I am _not_ a fool!"

Thranduil blinked, and blinked again, before his brain caught up with the second part of his son's previous statement. He walked over to where Legolas stood, still half facing the table, put his hands on his shoulders and gently turned the prince around to face him. "Legolas, I need you to be completely frank with me now. Did I understand you correctly that you dislike her advances?"

"Wh- ... _yes_ , _adar_! Utterly and completely! I hate being used under any circumstances, but most of all I hate it if people try to use me against _you_!" Legolas replied passionately, a fire of rage burning in his clear blue eyes.

"And yet you volunteer for this undertaking?" Thranduil insisted.

"No, not 'and yet', _ada_. 'Precisely because'. It is as I said before. I will not have any other warrior fall victim to her manipulations. I know her. I know her ways. It needs to be me."

"Although it disgusts you so much? I do not want you to sacrifice your heart's innocence like this. There has to be another way, _ion-nín_!" The king was pleading. He rarely ever pleaded.

Legolas' eyes softened. " _Adar_ ," he said quietly, pulling his father's hands down from his shoulders and guiding them to rest over his heart. "If we are right and she is planning something against you, I could never live with myself if I had not been there to prevent what I can. And as for my heart ..." He struggled for words for a moment. "This is only playacting, such as is required of me now and then in my station as the crown prince. Granted, the thought of doing it disgusts me more than all trade negotiations put together, but it is just another mask to wear."

Thranduil studied his son's determined face for a few long moments. "This is different, though. To do it right, you must not only convince Tauriel but also everyone else – and only a handful of people will know what is truly happening. I will have to do things that might hurt you. You will have to do things that might upset me. The entire court may think you have lost your mind, or worse. It might be a long time until the actual truth can be revealed. Can you really carry that burden unscathed?"

Legolas smiled sadly. "Unscathed, _adar_? There is no such thing. Not for you, and not for me. I learned that a long time ago."

The king sighed deeply and pulled his son into a firm embrace. "I hate this," he whispered fiercely.

"So do I," Legolas admitted, hugging his father back. "Just remember, whatever happens, that I love you and that I would do anything to protect you. Trust your heart, not your senses."

\\*/*\\*/

"I do not like this," Galion said firmly, causing Legolas to groan in frustration and Thranduil to look a little smugger than usual.

"You two have been spending too much time together!" the crown prince retorted, wiggling his finger between his father and the king's personal aide. "I have heard this speech so many times, I can recite it in my sleep. 'It is a risky operation, Legolas. Your safety could be compromised, Legolas. Your life could be in danger, Legolas. What if Tauriel turns on you, Legolas?' I _know_ all of this. I do not like it, either. But I cannot do this without your support! I need people I can confide in if need be!" he pleaded.

The atmosphere in the warm, homely kitchen where Galion, Amdirwen, Legolas and Thranduil were sitting after dinner – and after the couple's two children had been put to bed – instantly sobered even more.

"Of course you can count on us!" Galion exclaimed rather loudly, earning himself a gentle nudge in the ribs by his wife. "We will always be there for you, in whichever way you need us to be. But can you blame us for worrying about you?"

Legolas let out a long breath. "No, of course not. And I thank you for your concern. As things stand, I am not so much worried about my own safety, though." He hesitated for a beat. "I have received troubling reports from our borders. Something sinister is afoot, something that might cause the present situation to escalate."

Galion frowned. "What do you mean?"

Crown prince and king exchanged a meaningful glance. "Tauriel has been in touch with other captains in the guard. It seems she is trying to sow seeds of doubt concerning my policy of rigorously safeguarding securing this realm against dangers from without," Thranduil stated calmly, and Galion's eyes widened even more.

"Sedition? But why would she ... how can she ... surely she would not ..." the Elvenking's aide stuttered before blurting out: "Is she barking mad?"

"Actually, she might not see it as sedition," Amdirwen spoke up for the first time in this discussion. "She probably thinks she is just voicing her concerns as part of her duties as a captain of the royal guard. In her mind, perhaps she is only trying to gauge the situation before bringing it up to a superior."

Legolas nodded in agreement. "That is certainly the way she has spoken to me about it."

"She _whatnow_?" Galion was appalled. "She does realise you're the crown prince of this realm, son of the _Elvenking_ , does she?"

Said Elvenking slightly cocked his head. "It is certainly an audacious manoeuvre," he conceded calmly.

"Audacious. Well, that is one word for it." His indignation and the comfort and security of his own home made Galion far more outspoken than Legolas had ever heard him, and he marvelled at the change that the past decades of marriage and fatherhood had brought about in his father's reserved personal aide. "How can she not know how unwise a thing to do this is? _Nobody_ gets between parents and their children!"

"But she cannot know that, now can she?" Legolas reminded him softly. "She never knew her parents. She grew up in an orphanage. All she knows about is making allies in order to reach her goals, and protecting her assets."

And there was the rub of it.

"I agree with Legolas in his assessment of Tauriel," Amdirwen spoke up again. "But it is not her I am worried about." She turned to the prince, reaching across the table and taking his hands in hers in a sisterly gesture. "Tauriel regards you as a potential ally, maybe even as a friend." Amdirwen hesitated. "Maybe even as potentially something more?"

Legolas averted his gaze, momentarily startling his father.

"Legolas?" the king asked, his rich voice quiet and the slighted bit concerned.

" _Adar_!" the prince protested. "We have talked about this! Repeatedly. In detail."

"We have," Thranduil acceded. "But time passes and things change. Feelings change," he added softly.

But Legolas only shook his head wearily. "Yes, she has been flirting with me – and with every other male captain in the guard. Even if nothing else put me off, this certainly does. It disgusts me, although I still do not think she fully realises what she is doing. She had no one to explain these things to her!"

"But you feel protective of her," Amdirwen observed kindly.

"As much as of any warrior under my command. She is an amazing fighter and a skilled captain, but she is so ... oblivious as far as interpersonal matters are concerned that she needs someone to protect her from herself," the prince explained. "So we need to do both – protect the realm, and protect her as part of this realm."

"Legolas ..." Thranduil's tone was serious and infinitely gentle at the same time. "... if worse comes to worst, we might not be able to do both."


	7. The difference between facts and truth

_**A/N: Well, as a Christmas present here's the next chapter. You might have noticed that this story is focussed more on the relational and psychological side of things rather than on action, but that doesn't mean nothing happens. I just try to find explanations for**_ **why** _ **things happened the way they did in the Hobbit movies. That means I stray off canon at times.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: There are two short quotes from the movie "The desolation of Smaug" in this chapter that serve solely as timestamps. The copyright for them is held by other parties, not me. Apart from that, I only own my imagination and a laptop.**_

 _ **I know, I know, Christmas inertia is settling in. But how about you get a little exercise after all the festive meals, press that Review button and type up a line or two? I am fairly certain that burns at least one calorie ...**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 7: The difference between facts and truth**

" _You turned away from the suffering of my people, the inferno that destroyed us!"_

Thalanir, unrecognisable behind the face guard of his helmet, but standing closest to the Elvenking, was appalled at the scene that was playing out before his eyes. Supposed king or not, how dare that dwarf attack the ancient Firstborn in so insolent a manner? And how dare he twist the facts of history into what was bordering on an outright lie?

He had been there himself, on that day 171 years ago, as a very young warrior on his first big mission under the direct command of his king. The Elves had sent messengers to the Lonely Mountain days in advance, warning them of the looming danger of Smaug. They had sent a smaller detachment to Dale, offering to help evacuate the city. The Elvenking had personally pleaded with Thrór, imploring him to abandon the mountain for the safety of asylum on the outskirts of the Woodland Realm. And the Elven army had advanced further than was strictly safe on that fateful day, until eventually, seeing the hopelessness of situation, Thranduil had ordered a retreat.

Of course, Thorin had only seen the Elven troops turn away, not the anguish in their king's noble face. He had not heard the pain in Thranduil's voice as he spoke to his soldiers that night, discussing what could be done in aid of the people of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor at that point, nor had he witnessed the downcast silence that reigned in the palace for days after their return from that futile mission.

And apparently Oakenshield also chose to ignore the offers of help that the Elvenking had extended after the attack, which had been turned down by a dwarf king consumed by gold sickness and pride. _How dare he!_

Thalanir forced his thoughts away from that dwarf's impertinence, lest he give some outward sign of his outrage. He averted his eyes, scanning the throne room for anything untoward ... or should he say _anything_ _else_ _untoward_? A slight movement by the doorway – a moving shadow, really – caught his attention. He focussed his gaze on the armour-clad figure and realised half in shock, half in relief that it was the crown prince who had arrived at some point ... and, judging by his positively murderous expression, had heard more than enough.

Luckily the Elvenking chose the very next moment to put an end to this farce and gestured for Thorin to be taken to the dungeons. Thalanir, along with the guard opposite him, manoeuvred the flailing dwarf from the throne room. As they passed Legolas, the prince gave Oakenshield a look of such utter disdain as Thalanir had never seen from his long-time friend. Handing Thorin over to the not-too-tender care of Elros and seeing him locked up safely felt better than anything had in a very long time.

\\*/*\\*/

"... all of them are safely detained in the dungeons. We await your orders as to how to proceed, sire," Legolas finished his report, taking half a step back and inclining his head a fraction in deference to protocol.

The Elvenking regarded his son pensively, replaying his account in his mind for a minute and wondering at some odd phrasings and slight hesitations that he had noticed.

"Oakenshield carried a Gondolin sword, you say?" he finally asked, though nothing interested him less at the moment. Anything to keep talking to Legolas and find out what was troubling him without having to wait for a private moment much – _much_ – later.

"Aye, sire. He claimed it had been given to him, but I do not know how this could be true," the crown prince admitted.

Thranduil smiled sourly. "Oh, if Mithrandir is involved, anything is possible," he scoffed. "Though I am surprised the wizard sent them into the Woodland Realm all by themselves ..."

"Maybe he got tired of their impertinence, too," Legolas muttered, earning himself a half-raised eyebrow on his father's side.

"Care to elaborate?" the king asked nonchalantly.

"My exposure to dwarves has been limited so far, but I find their lack of propriety and manners quite challenging."

Thranduil chuckled. "It is, is it not?" he agreed, but a strange air about his son caused him to turn serious again a moment later. "It is not their lack of table manners, though, that is bothering you." It was more of a statement than a question, and Legolas knew it.

"Respectfully, I would deem that a discussion to be had in a private setting, sire," he replied guardedly.

The king nodded. "I thought as much. Join me for dinner?"

\\*/*\\*/

"Well then, out with it," Thranduil said as soon as all staff had left the private royal dining room that was tucked away deep in the heart of the Elvenking's palace.

"Tauriel has received a taste of her own medicine, it seems," Legolas replied, glaring daggers at his plate as if it had offended him somehow.

The king snorted in disbelief. "What? One of them really tried to flirt with her?"

"With some utterly disgusting innuendo," his son spat out.

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. He had lived long enough to know some of the crude humour – or what they considered to be such – among some of the peoples of Middle Earth. He was also familiar with some of the rough language that tended to be used even within Elven armies, but it had its strict boundaries. The things that belonged exclusively within the sacred bond of marriage were categorically off limits, and such insinuations would be fairly, if not completely, unfamiliar to his comparatively young and innocent son.

"She gave him quite an appropriate reply, I have to admit," Legolas continued. "However, at the same time she seemed both flustered and ... flattered!" The crown prince sounded appalled, but also confused and worried.

Thranduil pondered that for a long moment. "That is most certainly troubling," he finally agreed. "The entire thing is simply too suspicious, especially in light of all other recent events and developments." He briefly considered his options and finally decided: "Put all guards and patrols on high alert. During the feast, have all guard posts doubled. No vacation for anyone until we know what we are up against. And send Tauriel to report to me. I think it is time for a spelling lesson."

\\*/*\\*/

" _Do not give him hope where there is none."_

The stern words seemed to echo in the Elvenking's study long after Tauriel had left, appropriately chastised.

"That was cruel, _ada_ ," Legolas stated, swinging down from a hidden overhead nook at the top of one of the carved pillars.

"It was nothing but the truth. And I told you it was time she had it spelt out for her," the king replied calmly, pouring another goblet of deep red berry juice – yes, _berry juice_ , although nobody needed to know that this was what he kept in the ever-present carafe on his desk – and handing it to his son. "And it was well-deserved, especially considering her insolent insinuation."

Legolas didn't have to see his father's face to recognise the rage and grief in that statement. He accepted the goblet with a nod but caught his father's hand before he could pull it back. "She knows nothing about you if she is dumb enough to say such a thing," he offered quietly.

Thranduil sighed, putting his other hand over his son's and cradling it in his warm grip. "Thank you, _ion-nín_. These past few days ..."

"I know," Legolas replied softly – and he did. The sinister goings-on in the forest, Oakenshield's attack on the king's integrity, and now Tauriel's questioning of his politics and character were bound to weigh on the Elvenking's heart.

"Pay her no mind, please. It just surprises me that she said these things to your face. She normally does it behind the back of the other Sindar in this realm."

"How can she ... everyone knows that ..."

"... that _naneth_ was Silvan. Yes, of course everyone knows. Just like everyone knows the true story about your retreat at Erebor." Legolas set the goblet aside and gently gripped his father's shoulder. "Everyone who truly knows you also knows about your great heart and your love for _all_ your people. Do not let these two fools get to you."

Thranduil sighed and gave his son's neck a grateful squeeze. "How did you become so wise, _ion-nín_?" he asked, a note of wonder in his voice.

"I learned from the best, _adar,_ " Legolas replied. Then he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes: "Though I guess you also had something to do with it."

"Cheeky!" the king chuckled, feeling more settled again.

"I think that might be your fault, too," the prince grinned, glad to see his father's thoughts off the all-pervading gloom for a few moments.

And sure enough, Thranduil's mood soon turned sober again. "Something about this entire business does not sit right with me," he admitted. "These dwarves will try anything to reach the Lonely Mountain before Durin's Day. Frankly, I feel torn between keeping them locked up here indefinitely to prevent worse for all of us, and escorting them to Erebor myself to drop them in the dragon's lair and be done with them forever."

"But how would they escape? There is no way ..." Legolas objected, confused by the king's words.

"Something entered our halls with them ... something invisible ... and evil."

Legolas stared at his father, the ominous statement chilling him to the core. He knew that all Firstborn possessed the ability to sense evil, but to varying degrees. The Elvenking, having fought at the gates of Mordor, would recognise it before most others, so Legolas was not entirely surprised that he had noticed nothing so far. He shuddered at the thought of evil entering these halls of his people, moving unhindered among these light-filled _fëar_ , and at his own having been oblivious to it.

Thranduil seemed to read his thoughts. "Do not blame yourself. In fact, I am glad that you have not noticed yet. Sensitivity grows, rather than diminishes, with increasing exposure. It also means that most of our people will have noticed nothing, either. I would rather have them be at peace as long as possible, until I know what exactly we are facing."

Unfortunately the reprieve was not even to last another day.


	8. What I hoped to never face again

_**A/N: It has been too long, but life happened. I will not abandon this story, though I cannot make any promises as to how often I will be able to update. Please bear with me.**_

 _ **There are frustratingly many plot holes in the Hobbit films, and I am trying not to make matters worse. In my head, I have a few workarounds mapped out – just stay patient for a little longer and you will see. (Hopefully.)**_

 _ **There is one direct quote from "The Desolation of Smaug", marked as such, which again serves as a timestamp so things don't get too confusing. The copyright for that lies with the makers of the film.**_

 _ **Reviews are squirrel hugs. (You'll see.)**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 8: What I hoped to never face again**

"How could they escape when all cells were locked and guarded?" The Elvenking's voice thundered through the vaulted room, echoing, seemingly increasing in volume, and exacerbating Elros' headache a hundredfold. He only just stopped himself from cowering under the wrath of his sovereign.

"The keys were taken." Elros felt almost proud of how steady his voice remained.

"Do you mean to imply they had help from someone within these halls?" Thranduil hissed, outraged and horrified at the notion.

"They had help from _someone_ all right," Sadron scoffed, sniffing at the wine flask once again. "There is something more than Dorwinion in here."

Thranduil and Elros both paled at the words of the head healer, though for completely different reasons.

"But ... shouldn't we have tasted something?" Elros choked out, suddenly feeling a lot sicker than before.

Sadron shook his head, dipping his finger into the remnants in one of the goblets and licking it. "Not if you do not know what to expect," he finally replied after pondering the taste on his tongue for a few moments. "It is a herb commonly used to enhance the effects of mediocre or weak wine, scarcely known in the Elven realms but widely used among men and halflings. It naturally blends into the flavour of the wine, even improving it somewhat, I suppose. It also speeds up the effects the alcohol has on the body. You were probably asleep before you could even wonder about why you were feeling drunk after a measly goblet of it," the head healer concluded drily.

The explanation did nothing to lessen Elros' mortification, though it did somewhat alleviate his guilt.

"So someone planned in advance to free the prisoners, and had the knowledge and means to do so unnoticed," the king summed up the impossible situation. He suppressed a frustrated growl, instead taking a deep breath and thinking things through.

"How could we ascertain who of those with access to the dungeons has knowledge of this particular herb without alerting them to our suspicions?" he finally asked in a cautious tone.

Sadron quirked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by Feren's hurried arrival. "Your Majesty, we are under attack!"

\\*/*\\*/

" _No one enters this kingdom – and no one leaves it!"_

Thranduil felt his son's confused gaze burn into him as he made as hasty an exit as could still be considered dignified under the circumstances, but he would have to deal with Legolas later. For now, he had to get out and away from the stench of evil that seemed to line his very airways. He felt sick, sicker than he had in centuries, and the feeling threatened to overpower his ability to think clearly.

He sharply turned the corner to the nearest passage to the yard and stepped outside, at the last second remembering to pull the heavy door shut behind him before his knees buckled. Barely catching himself on a low wall, he slumped over and gulped in the crisp autumn air as deeply as he could. The cool stone under his hands felt grounding and eased the tremor in his fingers.

After a few moments, Thranduil pulled himself upright and made his way to the nearest tree, a huge maple with gloriously coloured yellow and red leaves. He sat down on the ground and rested his pounding head against the rough bark. The soothing song beneath, as well as the rich aroma of earth and leaves and moss, which chased away the stench of evil, finally calmed his racing heartbeat and cleared away the fog in his mind.

' _Your Majesty, you seem very unwell_ ,' he heard the worried observation of the old tree. _'Is there aught I can do to help? Should I let someone know?'_

The Elvenking slightly shook his head. _'You are already doing it, old friend._ Hannon-le. _'_

For a few minutes both beings lapsed into silence, the maple tree just keeping up its comforting song and Thranduil focussing on regaining command of his body and senses.

' _Would you like me to send word to the prince?'_ the tree tried again after a while, its song changing into something that resembled a caress.

' _He is needed elsewhere,'_ the Elvenking declined again. He did not want Legolas to see him like this.

' _Then let me try something else to lift your spirits,'_ the old tree suggested. A moment later, a rustling of leaves and excited chatter were the only warning the king received before a red squirrel landed on his shoulder.

Thranduil chuckled. "Hello there, little friend," he murmured and held out his hand for the small animal to sniff.

The squirrel cocked its head and regarded the elf with intelligent black eyes. It made a questioning sound and, forgoing the hand, jumped to land on the king's knee. Quickly turning to face Thranduil again, it waved its tail once, twice, then sat completely still.

The two beings regarded each other with patient interest, each waiting for the other one to act. Finally the squirrel made that questioning sound again, and the king sighed. "I do not know what to do," he admitted, a lump forming in his throat again. "Evil draws ever closer, and I do not know how to keep any of you safe." He let his arm drop to the ground, pulling up his free knee and, propping his other elbow on it, pressed his aching head into his hand.

The squirrel waited another beat, then gently climbed into the crook of the king's elbow and nestled down there, its tail brushing purposefully against the strong arm. It was a conscious display of trust, as the Elvenking well knew. He lightly stroked the soft fur and felt the small animal make some sort of purring sound. "You are very kind, my little one. I only hope I will not disappoint your faith."

\\*/*\\*/

"I have to go after her, you know that I do!" Legolas pleaded with his father, willing him to understand.

"And you know that we can ill afford _not_ to have you here!" Thranduil retorted sharply, slamming down a hand on his desk. "If you have not noticed, we have a severe crisis on our hands, and the slightest mistake on our part may result in war and destruction for this entire realm!"

Legolas could count the times his father had raised his voice at him on one hand, and he found it hard not to flinch. He knew that the king's anger was not directed at him, and more an outlet for his deeply-seated fears of war than anything else, but the raw power that radiated from his father at this moment filled him with a dread that was almost unfamiliar to him.

"This is precisely why I have to go after her and try to contain what damage she has already done through her actions," the prince replied calmly, much more calmly than he felt.

The Elvenking drew a deep breath, by sheer willpower struggling to rein in his emotions. "You do not know what you are up against, Legolas," he hissed through clenched teeth. "This is bigger than just a few stray orcs and a party of rogue dwarves."

"I know they are Gundabad orcs," Legolas replied, taking half a step forward to look his father straight in the eye. "And I know what happened at Gundabad. But _you_ know something you are not telling me, and I fear it might put me at a dangerous disadvantage out there. This is not the time to try and protect me, _adar_. If I am going into a war, I need to know who – or what – the enemy is!"

The Elvenking turned around abruptly, striding over to the window and opening it wide. Cold air crashed into his face and helped him fight back the sick feeling that threatened to overpower him again. The sounds of the forest touched his ragged _f_ _ëa_ , grounding him somewhat. When he felt able to speak, he turned back around and heavily sat down onto the windowsill.

With a worried expression, Legolas approached him, pressing a goblet of wine into his hand. "So it is true?" he asked fearfully. "What all the reports indicate? What Lord Elrond and Lord Celeborn sent word about?"

Thranduil nodded wearily. "I fear it is. He might have returned."

\\*/*\\*/

Amdirwen snuggled deeper into Galion's embrace, tears running down her face as she watched the exchange between Legolas and her children.

"When will you come back, Uncle Legolas?" the dark-haired little _elleth_ asked, tightening her hold on the prince's shoulder an pressing her face on the warm – and now slightly wet – spot over his heart.

"I do not know yet, dear one," Legolas replied, deep sorrow in his words. He held the little _elleth_ closer while rocking the baby in his other arm. "These things can take a terribly long time."

"So you will not be here for my begetting day?" the child sobbed.

"I am sorry, sweetheart. But I have left your present with your _nana_ and your _ada_ , and I will be thinking of you every day," he promised.

"I don't want a present ... I want you!" the little _elleth_ wailed, and it was all the prince could do not to shed some tears of his own.

"I know, Alassiel. I would not go if I did not have to, but I must. So will you promise me something?"

"Y... y... yes, Uncle Legolas," the child hiccupped.

"Please take good care of your _nana_ and _ada_ and your brother, will you? And promise me something else?" The dark-haired little _elleth_ nodded, trying very hard to contain her crying to hear what her favourite 'uncle' had to ask of her. "Will you please look after my _ada_ once in a while, too? He gets very lonely when I am not here, so could you please give him a hug or two whenever you see him? One for you and one for me?"

"I promise," the child replied solemnly, hugging Legolas firmly to show him she was up to the task. "Like this."

"That is very good. _Hannon-le_ , Alassiel." Legolas kissed her forehead and gently set her on her feet. "Now go play while I say good-bye to your _nana_ and _ada_. I will give you another hug before I go."

Reluctantly the little _elleth_ scampered off, and Legolas rose from his crouched position, carefully cradling the infant against his chest.

"I hope you did not just lie to our daughter," Galion said gruffly as Legolas approached.

The prince sighed deeply. "I hope so, too," he admitted. "I _shall_ do everything in my power to return soon, but I honestly do not know what expects me out there."

"As long as you return at all," Amdirwen said softly. "It would kill your father to lose you."

Legolas gritted his teeth for a brief moment. "Believe me, I am keenly aware of that," he replied in a rough voice. "But wars are unpredictable. The roles may well be reversed at some point."

Both Galion and Amdirwen flinched at the word "war". No matter how often they had heard it in the past few days, it never got easier.

"Those bloody dwarves," Galion burst out. "Why on earth did they have to take up this hopeless quest? And why did they have to drag us into this?"

The crown prince shook his head grimly. "The dwarves are just pawns in a much larger scheme. This has been a long time in coming ... perhaps we _have_ been in denial for too long." He looked pained at the admission. "But it matters not. We have a war on our hands. I only hope we can finish it, even if we did nothing to start it."

\\*/*\\*/

Father and son stood at the secret exit of the Woodland fortress, studiously staring ahead at the forest. The turmoil of thoughts and emotions crashing back and forth through their bond like waves of a stormy ocean made it hard to breathe, let alone speak. There was so much to say, and no time to say it. Smoke was rising from the Lonely Mountain. The beast had been awakened. Any choice that might have been there before was now out of their hands.

"Stay away from the dragon," Thranduil ordered in a voiceless but fierce whisper. "He cannot know you are even near."

Legolas reached for his father's hand and squeezed it firmly. "I will. I promise."

"You have a fortnight. If you have not returned to our borders by then, I am coming after you."

The crown prince smiled, despite the grimness of the situation. "I am counting on it."

Heaving a deep breath, Thranduil pulled his hand from Legolas' grasp, only to put both hands on his son's shoulders. He wanted to embrace him, to hold him one last time, but he was not sure he would be able to let him go again if he did.

"I am proud of you," he said instead, his voice unwavering despite the pain in his heart. "And I love you more than anything. Please be safe. I need you, more than you will ever know."

Sending all the comfort he was capable of towards his father's _f_ _ëa_ , Legolas gripped his wrists and squeezed them soothingly. "This is not the end, _adar_ ", he vowed. "I am sure of it."


	9. Priorities exposed

_**A/N: Yes, I am still alive. And short of being permanently incapacitated, I will not abandon this story. A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far; and a special shout-out to reviewer (and follower/favouriter) mydruid, whose recent avalanche of encouraging reviews kicked me in gear enough to finally finish this chapter.**_

 _ **I make no promises when I'll be able to post again, because life continues to be unpredictable, but I'll do my very best not to keep you waiting for too long.**_

 _ **Previous disclaimers and warnings still apply.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 _Previously on "Protecting You":_

 _Heaving a deep breath, Thranduil pulled his hand from Legolas' grasp, only to put both hands on his son's shoulders. He wanted to embrace him, to hold him one last time, but he was not sure he would be able to let him go again if he did._

" _I am proud of you," he said instead, his voice unwavering despite the pain in his heart. "And I love you more than anything. Please be safe. I need you, more than you will ever know."_

 _Sending all the comfort he was capable of towards his father's fëa, Legolas gripped his wrists and squeezed them soothingly. "This is not the end, adar", he vowed. "I am sure of it."_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 9: Priorities exposed**

Laketown was burning. The dragon was setting the entire town ablaze, a giant pyre flaming yellow and red against the night sky.

Laketown was burning. If the fire could be seen across the lake, clearly visible from the outposts of the Woodland Realm, the destruction was not hard to imagine. Fortunate was any soul who made it out alive.

Laketown was burning, and his _son_ was there. Sentries had sent word that Tauriel had followed the dwarves to the settlement by the lake, so it stood to reason that Legolas was with her.

Thranduil stood horrified, petrified, watching the inferno from among the treetops, clinging to a sturdy branch for balance because his legs threatened to fold under him.

"Why are you torturing yourself so?" Sadron's compassionate voice tore him from his paralysed state. "This is accomplishing nothing, and you are only draining yourself of precious strength, _mellon-nín_." Up here, hidden by branches and foliage, the healer had no qualms about putting his arm around the mighty Elvenking's shoulders, pulling him close to soothe him.

"Legolas is there," Thranduil whispered disconsolately, slightly sagging into Sadron's side. He was trembling all over as he allowed himself this one moment of fear and weakness.

"I know," Sadron replied, chancing another look at the firestorm. His own heart clenched at the thought of his beloved prince being anywhere near this destruction.

"I told him to stay away from the dragon," Thranduil moaned, a terrifying despair creeping into his voice.

"And I am sure he did," Sadron said firmly. "He might be there without being in the middle of it. He knows how to protect himself."

The Elvenking snorted. "Have you _met_ my son? This boy has not an ounce of self-preservation."

Sadron turned and held his friend firmly at arm's length, fixing him with a stern look. "You're wrong. He knows very well that your life and the well-being of the realm hinge on his survival. He would never risk that foolishly."

Thranduil drew a deep breath to pull himself together. "Of course," he agreed. "Of course. You are right. Forgive me. This fire, this …" He waved indistinctly at the blazing spectacle on the horizon. "It is … too much."

The head healer nodded in sympathy. "I know. So come back down and inside. Focus on what you _can_ do, not on what is out of your hands."

"I have not been this scared in a very long time, Sadron," Thranduil admitted in a small voice, prompting his friend to pull him into a brotherly embrace.

"That is all right. Just take your own advice," he replied patiently.

"Which on?" Thranduil half-chuckled, sensing where Sadron was going with this.

"The one that makes boring trade representatives and recruits wet themselves when you employ it. Fear is too, because …"

"… because fear exposes our priorities."

Both friends laughed for a moment but turned serious again very quickly.

"Thank you, Sadron," Thranduil said earnestly, squeezing the healer's shoulder. "I think I know now what to do next."

\\*/*\\*/

Torn between rage, fear, and sorrow, Galion struggled to keep his hand steady as the Elvenking slid his signet ring onto his finger. The entire court council and all leading officers of the Woodland Realm were present to witness the – hopefully temporary – appointment of the king's personal aide as regent in the king's absence, but nothing was further from his mind in this moment.

"It is my honour to serve you, Sire," he miraculously found the voice to say as Thranduil's imploring gaze cut to his very heart. The truth was that, even though this was not the first time he was left in charge of the kingdom in the absence of king and crown prince, for the first time he was truly scared. Not of the responsibility, but of the distinct possibility that Thranduil and Legolas might not return.

" _Hannon-le_ ," the king replied sincerely, clasping arms with his trusted aide for a little longer than protocol strictly required before he turned to leave.

Galion briefly locked eyes with Elros and Thalanir, strangely relieved to see some of his own emotions playing out on their faces. All three of them had protested as vehemently as their respective stations allowed when the Elvenking had informed them of his decision to leave the court and kingdom in their care while he was away, most likely to fight a battle with unknown outcome.

Thranduil had looked at each of them in turn, seemingly reading their thoughts, and proceeded to address his two most trusted guards. "This is no punishment," he had said softly. "I need you here more than I need you with me." Turning his gaze on Galion, he had continued: "There are none whom I trust more to keep this kingdom going, even if neither I nor my son should return. I trust you to keep our people safe, and well-governed, for as long as they choose to stay on these shores."

So, they were in this together. And as they watched their beloved king stride through the doorway of the throne room, all of them were prying that this was not the last they had seen of him.

\\*/*\\*/

Thranduil stepped out in the open to lead his troops on their way – and froze in surprise for a second. "Where do you think you're going?" he grumbled at the sight of his head healer, fully armed and mounting one of the court's best horses, ready to leave with them.

Sadron looked at him evenly. "I don't know. Where _are_ we going?"

"I don't remember asking you to come," Thranduil muttered, swinging onto the back of his trusty elk. He knew this discussion was pointless, but he felt the need to argue anyway.

"I don't remember having to be asked," Sadron replied in an infuriatingly unperturbed tone. "The king leaves the kingdom to go into battle, the head healer goes with him. Standard procedure."

Thranduil shook his head in exasperation and raised a hand to signal their departure. "Remind me to revise procedures when we get back," he groused as they rode off.

Sadron grinned and drove his horse forward. " _If_ we get back, I just might."

\\*/*\\*/

Legolas was seething inside, and he found it very hard not to let his mask slip. Tauriel had defied orders, _yet_ _again_ , and left him exposed and dealing with the orc pack leader all by himself. He did not know what infuriated him more: the fact that Bolg had escaped, that Tauriel had gone off gallivanting once more, or the senseless destruction that Smaug had brought upon Laketown. All of this for a mountain full of gold? It made no sense whatsoever. What was really going on here, something beyond a dwarf prince trying to reclaim the realm of his forefathers?

At least Tauriel seemed to have no deeper agenda than some misguided emotion toward the young dwarf. And she had helped evacuate that innocent family with those brave human children, so there was that.

Looking towards the shore of the lake, where some exchange or other was taking place between Tauriel and Kíli, Legolas sighed. For better or worse, they were involved in this conflict, and since more than the agreed-upon fortnight had passed, he expected his father's troops to show up any day now.

What a mess.

One thing troubled him more deeply than all others: the Gundabad orcs. Despite all assumptions to the contrary, his father had never believed Azog to be dead – not that he cared overmuch. The orc was a potential enemy to be dealt with if, or when, the occasion arose. Given their personal tragedy that was tied to the dark, evil place, Legolas only half understood his father's apparent nonchalance though he _did_ understand that a greater scheme was at work here.

Azog was acting out of self-interest, for sure, heading for the ultimate clash with his nemesis Thorin Oakenshield. But Legolas simply could not forget the last words of that captive orc: "My master serves _the one_." And if that was true – and considering the king's reaction, it was – Azog was also nothing more than a pawn in a plan of utter evil.

They had to make sure not to become pawns of that force, too.


	10. Motives Misjugded

_**A/N: Hello my faithful readers, I know it's been a while! Thanks for sticking with my story so far. As far as I have mapped it out, there should be 2-3 more chapters after this. The good news is, I have quite a bit of the next chapter already written, AND I'm going on vacation for two weeks, which means lots of time to write and hopefully wrap this up. So be on the lookout for more updates within the next month or two.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: There are a few lines of dialogue from "The Battle of the Five Armies" worked into this chapter, which are marked in italics and obviously don't belong to me. Their main purpose is to pinpoint the respective places in the film. Neither do I own recognisable characters, or the general (film) plot. All that is mine are my original characters as well as my ideas with which I am trying to fill the gaping plot holes. (At least I hope they serve the purpose.)**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 10:** **Motives** **Misjudged**

" _Hir-nín Legolas!"_

The Woodland Realm's Crown Prince was not too surprised to hear Feren's familiar voice. He had spotted his father's troops on his way to the far shore of the lake; it was only a matter of time until an emissary would show up. And it made perfect sense that it was Feren, since he was one of the few people who knew about their plan behind the plan. The trick was to play this right so Tauriel would not get suspicious, and Feren would still get the accurate message.

"Lord Feren! What an unexpected pleasure," he replied in as flat a tone as he could muster. The chief diplomat had _not_ been Tauriel's most favourite person ever since he had been in charge of her retraining, so it wouldn't be helpful if Legolas let his curiosity show.

"Your father requires your immediate return," the lord delivered his message.

 _Your father_ , not _the king_. So this was indeed not an order but rather a testing of the waters, so to speak.

With a sharp nod, Legolas acknowledged the message, half turning to Tauriel and telling her to come along.

" _Hir-nín …"_ Feren's tone was suddenly very hesitant. Strange. _"… Tauriel is banished."_

" _Banished?!"_ The prince could hardly believe his ears. For centuries, nobody had been banished from the Woodland Realm – and the last banishment had been for an attempt to overthrow the kingdom.

Legolas had no idea what his father was trying to accomplish with this. A banished Tauriel would defect to the dwarves, and as things stood, would be forced to fight against her own kin. Was his father hoping that she would act to pacify the dwarves and make them refrain from entering into battle? Or was it punishment, to make her see what a mess she had made of things?

The prince locked eyes with the chief diplomat, trying to read something, _anything_ in the inscrutable face – but Feren was not chief diplomat for nothing. So, in the desperate hope that the emissary would be able to translate his meaning, Legolas replied gruffly: _"You may tell my father, if there is no place for Tauriel, there is no place for me."_

 _We cannot leave her to go rogue. The consequences would be incalculable. I would rather have her close and under my watch._

Feren studied the prince for a long moment, then inclined his head almost imperceptibly. _Message received._

He watched and listened, intrigued, as Tauriel protested: _"Legolas … this is your king's command!"_

An unreadable expression crossed the prince's face, and Feren could have sworn Legolas closed off his bond with his father for what he was about to say next: _"Yes, he is my king – but he does not command my heart."_

As enigmatic as this statement was, Legolas' final words were a crystal clear message to Feren – and to the king. No doubt fully aware that the chief diplomat was still listening, the prince announced: _"I ride north. To Gundabad."_

\\*/*\\*/

"To _GUNDABAD_?!"

Feren watched in concern as Thranduil turned a sickly shade of pale. He moved forward to usher the king into a chair, but Sadron was closer, and faster.

"Sit," the healer ordered, then: "drink," as he pressed a goblet of wine into Thranduil's shaking hands.

The strong taste brought the king back to the here and now, and he looked up at his chief diplomat in distress. "Whatever is he up to, that foolish boy?"

On a hunch, Feren abandoned protocol and went down on one knee so he could look his king in the eye. "Your Majesty, I believe it is neither folly nor youthful rashness that is guiding the prince's actions. He _must_ be aware of the fact that Gundabad orcs are responsible for the raid on Laketown, as our scouts have reported. His only intent can be to gather knowledge of their plans – and where better to go than to the source?"

"Does he not remember what happened there?" Thranduil whispered as if he had heard nothing the emissary had just said.

Feren thought back to Legolas' words, and to the strange expression that had accompanied them – and a spark of insight started to form in his mind. Deep compassion filled his heart, and on an impulse he put a comforting hand on the king's shoulder. "He does, maybe more than we know. And he is probably trying to prevent history from repeating itself."

\\*/*\\*/

Legolas suppressed a look and sound of dismay when Tauriel actually asked about the significance of the place they were watching at the moment. _How_ did she not know that the queen had died here? Little though the king spoke about it, it was a well-known fact in the realm which was taught everyone who sought to enter the Elvenking's service.

On the other hand, maybe it was for the better. Tauriel would believe whatever he told her about the event without noticing any inconsistencies or omissions.

"My mother died here, long ago, when I was a very young child."

A small, flustered sound escaped Tauriel's lips. "I am sorry. I did not know. I did not mean to touch on painful memories."

Legolas waved her off. "There are not many memories for me here. _And_ _my father does not speak of it._ There is nothing here. _No grave. No memory._ "

To Legolas' great surprise, Tauriel reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "I am sorry all the same." She actually sounded sincere.

\\*/*\\*/

The Elvenking paced his tent, seething with anger and well aware of the fact that all eyes were on him in varying degrees of apprehension. Mithrandir feared that Thranduil might up and leave, taking his army with him; which would mean that the wizard would have to deal with the mess he had created all by himself. Sadron was somewhat worried about the health of the wizard, for Thranduil looked ready to throttle him. Feren without a doubt was already devising a diplomatic way to resolve this disaster. And Bard – well, actually the man seemed to be more curious than fearful, which Thranduil possessed greatness enough to respect.

"Thranduil, I am begging you!" Gandalf attempted to persuade him once again. "Are you really going to go to war over a handful of gems?"

A sharp inhale by Feren and Sadron were all the warning the wizard got before the king rounded on him. "Are you really this dense, or has the continued company of the dwarves dimmed your wits?!" Thranduil hissed, his face mere inches from Gandalf's.

"My _son_ is out there, and I am _not_ leaving him without defence, surrounded by madmen and a mortal enemy!" The Elvenking's voice boomed around the tent like thunder echoing in the mountains.

Gandalf froze, words failing him for once. He had completely misjudged the situation – he had completely misjudged the king in this. There was no telling what Thranduil would do now, and Gandalf realised that this was his greatest mistake of all: He had counted on the reasoning of a regent and foolishly discounted the greatest force _on_ Arda – a parent's love for their child.

Thranduil pierced him with his icy blued eyes for a few moments longer before he withdrew half a step and stood to his full height once more.

" _You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it."_

\\*/*\\*/

Gandalf found the good sense to leave, Bard had gone to look after his children, and Feren had excused himself to brief the captains. Finally, silence fell in the royal tent. Thranduil's ire gave way to bone-deep exhaustion and he slumped in his chair, closing his eyes against the burn of weeks of sleep deprivation. He heard Sadron moving about quietly and was not entirely surprised when deft hands pulled his hair over one shoulder. A flash of uncomfortable cold on his neck was quickly replaced by the exquisite heat of a warmed towel. Dexterous fingers started to carefully massage his tense shoulders, and a faint scent of relaxing herbs soothed the last ripples of his recent agitation.

"I think you managed to scare Mithrandir," Sadron mused, a smile in his voice.

Thranduil made a sound somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "About time someone did. He is far too used to everyone just following along with his hare-brained quests."

"Speaking of hare-brained," the healer began, and the king pulled away in renewed irritation.

"Not you, too, Sadron! This thing is complicated enough without all of you pestering me about inconsequential details!"

Sadron firmly guided him back against the chair, rearranged the hot towel and continued his ministrations. "Peace, _mellon-nín_. I was just puzzled as to why everyone is so eager to swallow your threadbare story about 'coming to reclaim the White Gems of Lasgalen'."

Thranduil sighed. "Because they cannot, or will not, think beyond the scope of their own experience and inclinations," he replied cryptically.

The healer pondered the king's words for a few moments. "So Mithrandir assumes you want them back as a last tie to your late wife, and the dwarves think you desire them as something equal in import and value as their Arkenstone. Something over which you would go to war."

The king inclined his head a fraction. "'Tis the only logic they understand, the only language they speak."

"What is it you _would_ do with the gems, should you get them back?" Sadron enquired softly, his hands stilling on the king's shoulders in silent support.

"Send them the same way we sent her body," Thranduil whispered, and his gaze travelled beyond the confines of his tent, towards where Sadron knew the lake was situated.

The significance of this place and what lay ahead of them filled the healer with unexpected dread and he found himself praying with all his might that the royal family would not be brought to an untimely reunion.


	11. Protecting you from yourself

_**A/N: As promised, I am back with the next chapter! It is a little shorter than usual, but the following one will make up for that. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, follows, etc. I really appreciate you sticking with this story for so long, despite my irregular updates and long breaks.**_

 _ **Reviewer Chuchi Otaku pointed out in their review on Chapter 8 that they would like to read my take on the great confrontation between Tauriel and Thranduil. I had planned to write that all along, because I totally agree with you, so here it is. I hope you like it!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Again, there are a few lines of dialogue from "The Battle of the Five Armies" (see disclaimer for Chapter 10), which obviously I don't own.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 11: Protecting you from yourself**

Feren hurried through the ruins of Dale, trying not to look too closely at the bodies of the fallen Elven warriors. If he did, he might not be able to keep it together, and he _had_ to keep it together, for his king's sake if nothing else. He had found the arrow-riddled corpse of Thranduil's elk, and he dared not think of the implications.

Momentary relief at seeing the king on his feet and moving gave way to a deep pain in his heart when he realised what Thranduil was doing, and he had to stop and compose himself for a moment. Moving from slain elf to slain elf, the king was not only counting the death toll and acknowledging the sacrifice of his brave warriors – he was looking for his _son_!

With a deep breath, Feren forced himself to walk on towards the king, who addressed him without even turning around. How Thranduil knew it was him was anybody's guess, but the order to gather the troops and prepare to withdraw was clear and concise enough. Despite the grimness of the situation, the order brought a measure of relief to Feren. Nothing was to be gained by their staying. They just had to find Legolas and Tauriel before they left … dead or alive. After sounding the signal to withdraw, the chief diplomat despatched half a dozen warriors to search for the prince and the wayward _elleth_ , and then rushed to follow Thranduil back to the Elven camp.

Of course, that meddling wizard chose this precise moment to reappear from who knew where and implore the king to not leave, not now. In fact, he all but demanded that Thranduil and his troops engage in battle against the second orc army. It seemed the wizard had either lost his memory or his sense of self-preservation. However, the Elvenking barely paused to dismiss the grey-robed figure. _"I have spent enough Elven blood in defence of this accursed land. No more!"_

The king's voice caught on the last two words, a testament to how much he was affected by all of this. For a brief moment Feren wondered if Mithrandir heard it, too, and if it moved him at all. Did the wizard realise that whatever was happening had been set in motion by his own actions?

But he couldn't dwell on these thoughts, because they were moving forward again. With deadly precision and unearthly reflexes the king slew stray orcs left and right before any of his guards could even raise their swords. As they reached the outbound road, however, Thranduil suddenly froze in his tracks.

Feren had trouble believing his eyes and ears in the face of what followed. Either Tauriel had lost her mind entirely, or evil had taken hold of her, because her words and actions were pure madness. Not only did she possess the audacity to challenge the Elvenking – she also drew her weapon against him.

On instinct, Feren and the warriors around him brought up their swords and bows, ready to take extreme measures to protect their king. Icy silence fell on the scene, as if even the wind was holding his breath. Thus, there was no way _not_ to hear Tauriel's cruellest words of all:

" _There is no love in you!"_

\\*/*\\*/

Legolas was approaching fast, apprehensive at the scene that was playing out on the path below him. One wrong move, one wrong _word,_ and there would be blood. He did not put it past Tauriel to actually fire a lethal arrow at the king. And it wasn't that he didn't trust his father's wisdom to handle the situation, or his ability to protect himself. But Legolas felt distress in his _f_ _ëa_ that was not his own, and his father's patience and forbearance were running out quickly.

Then Tauriel's accusation rang out, and pain sliced through his heart. Legolas desperately sought his father's eyes, but Thranduil turned his head to the other side, struggling to absorb this blow.

It only lasted for a moment, though, and Legolas pressed forward to reach the opponents before this got entirely out of hand. Despite her obvious fear, and although her bow was gone, Tauriel was still in a position to do the king serious harm. Thranduil, on the other hand, would be well within his rights to execute her for treason where she stood. Neither was an outcome that Legolas could allow: The Woodland Realm would not survive without her king in this growing darkness, and Thranduil would never forgive himself for shedding Elven blood, no matter how rightfully.

" _You think it is love? Are you ready to die for it?"_

The words sounded cold, cruel even – but such a wave of anger and pain surged in Legolas' _fëa_ that he almost had to stop and catch his breath. In that split second he realised that his father was referring to his wife and her death, and that there was obviously a layer to the circumstances of her passing that none of the history books mentioned, and that his father had never spoken of.

A few more steps brought the prince in arm's reach of the confrontation. He drew one of his twin knives, firmly but respectfully touching it to the king's sword and lowering both blades. Shocked blue eyes locked onto his own, and a heartbreaking confusion clouded his father's face.

" _If you harm her, you will have to kill me first,"_ Legolas stated with all the conviction he was capable of putting into his voice. Through their bond, however, he sent all the love and warmth he could for this brief moment. 'Saes, adar _! This is not worth a lifetime of guilt and regret! She does not know what she is saying and doing.'_

The anguish that reverberated through their bond threatened to melt Legolas' resolve. What he _wanted_ to do was to have Tauriel arrested by the guards and take care of his father. What he _needed_ to do, though, was to get Tauriel as far away from the king as he could, and do everything in his power to help defeat the enemy for good. This was not about assisting the dwarves or helping Tauriel. It was only about protecting their realm – their home.

So with brutal effort Legolas turned away from his despairing father and closed off their bond.

Their survival depended on it.


	12. No going back

_**A/N: My dear readers, I humbly present to you a new chapter of "Protecting You". Things are slowly drawing to a conclusion; there will be one more chapter after this and an epilogue.**_

 _ **Thank you for all your reviews, favourites, and follows. I really appreciate your sticking with this story.**_

 _ **Although I make a point of not writing for reviews, but solely for your and my entertainment, I am as curious as any other writer to hear what my readers think. So if you can spare a moment to leave a line or two, it is highly appreciated. Thank you!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Once more, there are a few lines of dialogue from "The Battle of the Five Armies" (see disclaimer for previous chapters), which obviously I don't own.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 12: No going back**

It was over. They had won. They had lost. There was nothing left to do for them but pick up the pieces and … and what? Move on? Recover? Go back to their lives? Build new ones?

With a strange sense of detachment, Legolas looked down at a grieving Tauriel, who sat on the freezing ground, flush against the side of the dead dwarf, holding his hand in the tenderest way as she wept. Legolas was surprised at the depth of her sorrow. Even a year ago he would not have deemed her capable of such profound emotion. Perhaps she had discovered love after all.

What would now become of her? There was no telling how the king would judge, given what had occurred – given what she had said and done. Legolas only hoped … No. In truth, he did not. He was past caring. Because of her actions, they had been drawn into a war that, under different circumstances, would have been handled in a completely different manner.

Or would it?

The prince turned away, intending to simply return to the camp, when he felt his father's _f_ _ëa_ reaching out for him. He was close, and he was anxious. Desperate, even.

Following the pull of their bond, Legolas saw his father before his father saw him. He seemed to be looking for something … someone? There was an air of devastation about the king that matched the feel of his _fëa_. He looked haggard. Weary. Miserable.

Then Thranduil looked up, laying eyes on his son, searching for any sign of injury or other harm. Legolas' first impulse was to rush over to him and bury himself in his father's arms, like he used to do when he was much younger. But suddenly he felt unsure of whether this would be kindly received. After all, he, too, had openly challenged the king. Crown prince though he was, it was still unheard of. Unacceptable.

So they stood there, staring at each other, lost for words. Then both of them spoke at the same time: "Are you unharmed?" And just like that, both of them fell silent again.

Countless thoughts and emotions passed between them, leaving both of them reeling and drained. Then it was Thranduil who found his voice first. "We travel at daybreak."

Legolas opened his mouth to acknowledge the order when an unwelcome realisation hit him like ice water. _"I … I cannot go back!"_

 _I_ _ **cannot**_ _. So much has happened. I have done so much … seen so much … I cannot go back and just resume my life. I hardly know who I am anymore._

Thranduil looked devastated, and once again pain threatened to tear apart his innermost being. But there was also a spark of understanding. After all, he had been in similar situations before. In a sense, he had been where Legolas found himself now.

" _So where will you go?"_

" _I do not know."_ And how could he? He had literally had no time to think about any of this.

Imladris was always a possible, and perhaps an inevitable destination, as both father and son well knew. But then Thranduil remembered his most recent correspondence with Lord Elrond and had an idea.

" _Go north. Find the Dúnedain. There is a young ranger amongst them. You should meet him. His father Arathorn was a good man. His son … might grow to be a great one."_

Legolas gave a half-nod. Only much later would it occur to him that his father wanted him to meet the heir of Isildur. Only much later would he realise what that implied. At this moment, however, the prince was simply overwhelmed, and grateful for any amount of wise direction his father could give him.

In a fog of messy emotion, he turned to leave, but his father's voice stopped him. "Legolas … many years ago you asked whether your mother did not love us enough to stay. I never answered your question, but you should not leave without knowing. _Your mother loved you, more than anyone. More than life._ She knew she was dying, so with her last breath she gave you what you needed to live. Your life is unspeakably precious, _ion-nín_. Do not risk it lightly."

Legolas did not dare meet his father's eyes, afraid of what he would see there – afraid of what his father would see in his. Out of reflex, he lifted his arm, stretching it out and then touching his hand to his heart, in a farewell greeting. He left in a daze, not even aware of how he had left his father standing there, utterly regal – and utterly forlorn.

The prince made it just outside before a fresh wave of pain rolled over him and, like the current of a mighty river, pulled his legs out under him. He sank to the ground, buried his face in his hands, and gave in to his sorrow.

\\*/*\\*/

Feren and Sadron climbed up to the top of Ravenhill in search of their king and prince, not knowing what to expect and inwardly bracing for anything and everything. When they found Legolas, curled into a ball of misery and hardly aware of his surroundings, for a moment they assumed the worst.

"My prince!" Feren exclaimed as Sadron knelt by Legolas' side to examine him for injuries or other harm. "What happened?"

Legolas lifted his head a bit, seemingly oblivious to the chief diplomat but seeking the healer's eyes. "I hurt him," he whispered.

Sadron and Feren exchanged a worried look. "What do you mean?" the head healer asked gently.

"I told him I was not coming home, and then I just left …" Legolas drew in a stuttering breath. "I never wanted to hurt him, but I still did."

The healer pulled the prince into a comforting embrace. "Then come. Let us find him, and you can make it right."

Legolas gave a weak nod, then looked at Feren. "Tauriel is here. The dwarf is dead. He died saving her."

The chief diplomat inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I will go see to her," he replied quietly and disappeared.

Sadron pulled Legolas to his feet and then held him by the shoulders for a moment. "It will be all right, I promise."

The prince averted his eyes. "I still cannot come back home with you. I am still hurting him."

For a moment, Sadron contemplated this, then said calmly: "That may well be. He will understand, though."

Legolas dropped his forehead against the healer's chest, a familiar gesture that had Sadron wrap his arms around him protectively. "I hate this," the prince murmured, desolation and exhaustion prominent in his voice. "I only ever wanted to protect him."

Sadron tightened his hold on the young warrior whom he loved like a son. "And you did. You did well. And everything else … well, believe me when I say that in time, you will heal. Both of you."

\\*/*\\*/

Meanwhile Feren had found Tauriel, and the sight rendered him momentarily speechless. Legolas had told him that the dwarf – Kíli – had died protecting her, and by the look of it, it had been a gruesome death. There were still tear tracks on that lifeless face, and yet an expression of such determination and devotion as Feren had rarely seen in his long life.

As for Tauriel, all her previous fire seemed to have left her. In a bitter, bitter lesson she had learned what love really means.

"You should take your farewell," Feren finally said, his tone carefully neutral. "The dwarves are on their way to bring home their dead."

The young _elleth_ looked up, unsurprised and yet as if she hadn't heard him at all.

"He loved me, and he was ready to die for it," she wept, as if only now realising what has happened.

Feren stood in silence, taking in the tragedy of it all. For once, the chief diplomat had no words to offer.

\\*/*\\*/

Intent on sparing the king any humiliation, Sadron had left Legolas at the entrance of the hall, with instructions to wait until he got back. The prince had been reluctant, wanting to apologise to his father as soon as possible, but the healer had been adamant.

The moment he laid eyes on Thranduil, he knew he had been right in his decision. The king was a heartrending sight that he surely wanted no one to see, maybe not even one of his closest friends.

Three quick steps brought Sadron to Thranduil's side. " _Mellon-nín_ ," he said in a soft voice putting one arm around the king's shoulders and one hand under his elbow to brace him. "Talk to me."

Thranduil hung his head, bringing up a shaking hand to his bloodshot eyes to wipe away a few traitorous tears. "He is not coming home," he whispered. "He just left."

Sadron drew his friend slightly into his side, making a soothing sound in the back of his throat. "He may not be coming home for now, but he _is_ outside, unsure of his welcome at this moment," the head healer replied, the bluntness of his words softened by the gentleness of his tone.

"What?" Thranduil lifted his head, eyes immediately searching for his beloved son.

"Come," Sadron said, carefully nudging the king into motion. "Come away from this desolate place."

Thranduil offered no resistance, his mind only set on getting to Legolas. When his gaze found his son, again huddled down in sorrow and distress, he found his strength once more. He approached the prince and knelt down next to him. " _Ion-nín_!"

The two simple words were enough to break Legolas from his daze. He flung himself in his father's arms and held on for dear life. " _Goheno-nín, adar_! _Goheno-nín_!"

\\*/*\\*/

"What are we going to do about Tauriel?" Feren had joined Sadron, Thranduil, and Legolas a few minutes earlier, glad that both father and son seemed to be in a much better frame of mind. Still, he felt the need to move things forward. Evening would soon start to fall, and the prospect of making their way down from Ravenhill in the dark was not exactly appealing.

"What do you suggest we do?", Thranduil snapped. There was nothing else he wanted to do at the moment but grab his son and run back to the Woodland Realm. Alas, he was still king of said realm, and Tauriel was still his responsibility, banished or not.

"I suggest we grant her safe passage to wherever you will banish her," the chief diplomat replied, completely immune to Thranduil's temper.

"And where would that be? Which Elven realm do we dislike enough to inflict her on it?" The king's tone was acerbic, but apparently he did not expect an answer. He rose to his feet and took a deep breath. "Where is she?"

Feren tilted his head in the appropriate direction and led the way, the king only a few steps behind. Legolas stood, too, intending to go with them, but Thranduil held up one hand. "Please stay here, _ion-nín_. This is something I need to handle by myself."

The prince looked decidedly unhappy with that, but he obediently stayed behind while his father went to find the wayward warrior.

As much as his most recent encounter with Tauriel had left a bad taste in the Elvenking's mouth, the sight that met him still touched his heart. Like Feren before him, what struck him most were the dried tear tracks on the dead dwarf prince's youthful face. It seemed that, whatever Tauriel had been feeling, his love for her had been real.

When Tauriel lifted her face to meet the king's gaze, he wondered if she even understood what was happening.

" _If this is love, I do not want it. Take it from me! Please!"_

The request was not only heartbreaking, it was a _tragedy_. It showed that still, after all this, Tauriel did not understand the first thing about love.

" _Why does it hurt so much?"_

And right there was the reason for her strange request. Yes, lost love hurt, as Tauriel was discovering only now. Thranduil knew this pain, perhaps more intimately than most other people. But never once had he wished this pain away. It was a precious reminder that the love which had once been there, and was now gone, had been _real._

His gentle reply seemed to startle Tauriel, and finally, _finally_ , something like comprehension appeared on her face.

Without any further words, the king withdrew to where Feren was standing out of sight, keeping watch. "Bring her back to the camp. We cannot leave her unprotected. I will make my decision on what to do about her by nightfall."

And with that, he turned and left.

\\*/*\\*/

The pale winter sun was just starting to set when the Elvenking returned to the Elven encampment, accompanied only by Sadron. Legolas, Feren, and Tauriel were following about half a mile behind, the prince having insisted that Tauriel was his responsibility until the king formally relieved him of his task.

Of course, nobody outside their innermost circle knew about the entire mission, so Thranduil was met with anxious, curious, and apprehensive looks as he made his way through the camp. Without stopping or even slowing down, he strode towards his tent and ducked in, Sadron on his heels.

He took a few minutes to clean himself of the blood and grime that clung to him from the battles of the day. Changing into a clean tunic, he barely paid heed to the healer who took out the basin with the dirty water. A splash was heard moments later as the water hit the ground. If only all other troubles of this day could be disposed of so easily.

Presently Sadron returned with a steaming cup of tea – and news. "They just entered the camp," the healer informed him while Thranduil gratefully took a long sip from the cup. Sure enough, a guard appeared at the entrance of the royal tent within seconds.

"The Crown Prince, Lord Feren, and Captain Tauriel have arrived," he reported curtly.

The king inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Have them wait at the meeting place. I will be there shortly."

The guard left the tent and Sadron quirked an eyebrow at Thranduil. Protocol usually dictated that any matter of this gravity would be _brought before the king_ , quite literally. "What are you going to do?" the head healer asked curiously.

"What I should have done in the first place."

\\*/*\\*/

Everyone knew that something extraordinary was about to occur when the Elvenking strode towards the large meeting place in the middle of the encampment. The Elvenking did not meet _anyone_ halfway.

There was complete silence in the entire camp as king and crown prince stood face to face, almost within reach of each other. A loaded moment passed; then the prince knelt, laying down his weapons at the king's feet.

"I have completed my mission. My life is in the king's hands," Legolas pronounced in a clear voice that even the last warrior in the camp had no trouble hearing.

Tauriel's eyes went wide and her face paled even more. "Your mission?" she exclaimed before she could stop herself. Feren shot her an icy look, but both king and crown prince ignored her.

With a graceful move that betrayed nothing of his exhaustion, the Elvenking scooped up the weapons and returned them to the prince.

"Stand before your king," he ordered, the epitome of regal authority.

The prince obeyed but respectfully kept his head bent and his eyes on the ground.

Only when his father's hands cradled his face and lifted it to meet his gaze did Legolas dare to breathe again.

"You have done very well, protecting the life of your king and the safety of the kingdom. I thank you for your outstanding service, and I hereby relieve you of your task. You are free to do as you please."

Tauriel watched in utter consternation as the king sadly smiled at his son and kissed his forehead, and the host of Elven warriors stood at attention with their hands on their hearts.

Then king and crown prince stood side by side as Thranduil motioned for Tauriel to step forward. She did, and gladly fell to her knees, because she was not sure her legs would carry her a moment longer.

"Tauriel, you have defied direct orders of your king and your prince. You have neglected your duties as captain in the royal guard. You have endangered the wellbeing of your fellow warriors, and the security of the realm. Moreover, you have threatened the life of your king. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The king's sonorous voice was calm and void of emotion. Tauriel would have much preferred anger, or even contempt. But this … she was being treated like a stranger, and it _hurt_.

"Nothing," she whispered, and hated how much her voice shook.

"Very well. Then I hereby pronounce my judgement. As it is my belief that your actions were not born of evil but of misguided affections and the rashness of inexperience and youth, I revoke your formal banishment from the Woodland Realm. However, you will not be allowed to return. There is damage in your mind and heart that we are not equipped to heal or rectify. Therefore I offer you the choice to either go to Lothlórien and seek help from the Lady Galadriel, or sail to Valinor to find healing there. Either way, you will be granted safe passage, and I will provide an escort to ensure you arrive safely wherever you choose to go. – You have until morning to make your decision."


	13. What I have never told you

**Chapter 13: What I never told you**

 _Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o'er-wrought heart and bids it break. (Shakespeare)_

 _\\*/*\\*/_

Night had fallen on the Elven encampment, but there was no sleep to be found. Fires had been lit, and along with fiery golden sparks, laments for the fallen warriors rose up into the starless, moonless sky.

Next to a tent on the very edge of the camp, Tauriel stood, gazing desolately at the large space in the centre where the bodies of all the fallen had been laid out, waiting to be taken back to their homeland and being laid to rest there.

There were so _many._

"Is this my doing?" she whispered in a strangled voice. "Am I guilty of causing this?"

For a split second, Feren, who had taken it upon himself to guard her through the night, wanted to say yes. Many of the fallen had been his students, just like Tauriel, and had been dear to his heart. Some wounded part of his _f_ _ë_ _a_ needed someone to blame.

But he didn't. "No," he replied quietly. "Your actions were certainly not helpful and forced us into entering this battle at an inopportune time, but I think it was unavoidable. Sooner or later this would have happened anyway."

"I was only following my heart!" the young warrior wept. "I never meant for any of this to happen!"

Feren sighed deeply. "I know. However, you _still_ fail to understand that hearts are easily misled. Hearts are like wild horses: in order to make good use of their great power, they need to be harnessed and directed. If you let them run wild, they can do all sorts of harm."

Tauriel shook her head, now sobbing openly. "I do not know if I can!"

The chief diplomat turned to her, put one hand on her shoulder and used his other hand to force her to look him in the eyes. There were both fire and ice in his voice as he replied: "You will have to. Otherwise it _will_ be your fault next time."

\\*/*\\*/

King and prince stood side by side, unmoving, watching as the bodies of the fallen warriors were brought to the centre of the encampment and carefully laid out side by side.

There were so _many_.

Too many.

Legolas looked on, recognising comrades he had known for centuries, comrades – friends – with whom he had trained and shared life and fought battles.

He had been relieved to hear that some of those he held dearest to his heart had been ordered by his father to stay at the royal stronghold. The thought of losing Thalanir, Elros, or Galion was unbearable.

There was a sudden moment of silence between one lament and the next as the last body was laid on the ground and covered reverently. All the survivors stood, lost for words at the price that had been paid today.

Then the Elvenking spoke. " _Goheno-nín_. Forgive me for leading you into so much suffering and death. Inevitable though this day might have been, I still wish I could have spared you. Thank you for your loyalty and love, following me willingly into this battle against the forces of darkness. I hope with all my heart that this sacrifice will not have been in vain, that we will yet enjoy a reprieve of many years and whatever peace we can have this side of the sea."

With their right hands on their hearts, everyone bowed their heads to their king, including the prince. As they raised their eyes again after a few moments, it was to the sight of their king mirroring their gesture.

Only the prince stood close enough to see the tears on his face.

\\*/*\\*/

Thranduil was too tired to sleep. Bone-deep weariness made itself known as a dull ache in his entire body that prevented him from finding rest.

Also, he sensed his son's inner turmoil, even though Legolas was out in the camp, seeing to some duty or other. These past months had taken a heavy toll on all of them, and the Elvenking found himself desperate for some respite, however brief.

Giving up on sleep for the moment, Thranduil rose and reached for his cloak, when quiet but agitated voices made him pause.

"You're _not_ going to disturb him now!"

"He's been tossing and turning for the better part of the hour. Just go and put both of you out of your misery!"

A grateful smile flitted across Thranduil's tired face. Leave it to Sadron to wrap his concern and love in a grumpy order so as not to overwhelm the prince with emotions.

"All right, no need to push me!"

There was a rustling of canvas and a soft knock on the wooden pole at the doorway.

"Come!" Thranduil called, sitting back down on his cot and waiting for prince and healer to enter.

"Forgive me, _adar_. Sadron made me come. I told him not to disturb you, but …"

The king held up a hand. "Whatever is the matter?"

"You are both bruised, battered, and dead on your feet. You need to sleep," the head healer announced concisely.

"I could have slept outside with the other captains," Legolas muttered.

A part of Thranduil's heart both swelled and broke at the defiant words, with pride for his son who never took advantage of his royal status in the field (and even at home, really), and with pain that somewhere deep inside Legolas thought he might not be welcome in his father's quarters.

"Thank you, Sadron," the king replied softly. "I will take care of the rest."

The head healer gave a satisfied nod and withdrew, but not without a final order: "Sleep! Both of you!"

"When did he get so bossy?" Legolas grumbled as soon as Sadron had left.

"Oh, he has always been like that. I suspect Elrond's training is to blame," Thranduil chuckled while not-so-subtly looking his son up and down in search of hidden injuries.

"I am not wounded, _adar_ ," the prince said quietly, his tone softening as he sensed his father's concern. "Just a few bumps and bruises. I have had much worse."

Thranduil pressed his lips into a thin line. "When was the last time you slept through the night?" he asked after a moment.

Legolas blinked, trying to remember. Knowing this was all the answer his father needed, he decided to turn the tables. "What about you? The other captains mentioned you had an unwelcome encounter with the ground in the battle?"

The king made a displeased sound. "I am not so much out of practice that I forget how to roll," he bit out. He did not want to be reminded of the cause of his acrobatic dismount earlier in the day.

"And yet you hold your left shoulder stiffly. You did not earlier, so the bruising must be spectacular by now." Legolas knew he was poking the bear, but he was desperate for a distraction from his own misery.

"You are much too perceptive for your own good, elfling," the king grouched. "Tell me, is your nose still hurting from that break?"

By now, father and son were standing toe to toe, a battle of wills almost as old as time being fought without a single word.

They reached out exactly at the same moment, Legolas' hand gently coming to rest on his father's battered shoulder, and Thranduil's fingers tenderly tracing his son's weary face.

"I can find no rest, _adar_ ," the prince confessed in a helpless whisper. "I tried so hard not to let her out of my sight, but time and again she slipped out of my grasp, each time with direr consequences. I tried so hard to prevent … all of this, but I could not. I feel like I never failed so badly before."

The king wrapped his arms around his son and drew him close. "You could not have prevented this, nor could I. This was orchestrated in a dimension far beyond our reach. Even the ringbearers just about killed themselves trying to contain the enemy."

Legolas shuddered at these words, pulling back a little to look his father in the eyes. "Did they, though?"

Thranduil sighed. "They have bought us some time. I suspect Mithrandir knows more than he lets on, but for now, they have succeeded in putting some distance between Sauron and the One Ring."

"For how long?"

The king shrugged, wincing a little when his almost-forgotten shoulder injury made itself felt again. "Hopefully long enough for us to prepare for one last war. We can never allow ourselves to be as complacent as we have been this time."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "I have _never_ known you to be complacent, _adar_. Nor have I even once seen you underestimate those hidden dangers."

Thranduil smiled, a tiny, sad smile, and pulled his son close again. "Yet even I have indulged in the illusion of being able to keep my people safe a little longer. Maybe see a few of their children grow up this side of the sea, under green leaves and blue skies."

Both of them let their thoughts drift to Amdirwen, Galion and their little ones, and their hearts grew heavy.

"So what will you do? Bid them all sail?" the prince asked softly.

"I shall," the Elvenking confirmed his son's assumption. "Only I fear it will be to no avail."

\\*/*\\*/

Dawn was still several hours away when the Elvenking woke to the distinct feeling of something being _wrong_. He took a moment to listen, but the encampment and its surroundings lay as still as could be. The sense of imminent danger did not abate, however, at this first taking stock, so Thranduil decided to investigate. One hand going to the knife beneath his pillow, he listened into the darkness again. A moment later he cursed himself for not noticing right away. He rolled from his cot, landing precisely in the narrow gap between his bed and his son's bed.

Legolas was asleep, but shivering uncomfortably, as if he was feeling cold. Thranduil reached for his son's hand, only to find the prince wrapped tightly into his blanket, with just his pale face visible among the folds.

The king put a hand on his son's cheek, finding it clammy and colder than it should ever be.

"Legolas?" he asked firmly when the prince didn't even stir at the touch. "Legolas, wake up."

The young warrior's half-lidded eyes opened slowly, confusion clouding his gaze. " _Adar?_ What is it?" he slurred, whether from sleepiness or from something else, Thranduil could not discern.

"Tell me what hurts," the king demanded, worry making his tone brusquer than he intended.

"Nothing hurts," Legolas replied, slightly more articulate. "But why is it so cold in here?"

His father's deft hands patted him down in search of injuries, stopping when they reached his ribcage. What had been hidden under the prince's armour before was now easily recognisable.

"When was the last time you had a proper meal?" Thranduil hissed in dismay. "You are naught but skin and bones!"

The prince pushed himself up on his elbow. "Before I left home," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his face in an attempt to rouse himself. Facing the Elvenking's indignation was not something one wanted to do half-asleep.

"Wrong answer!" his father growled predictably, getting up to slip on his robe and cloak. "Why on earth did you not have supper with everyone else?"

"I was too tired to be hungry," Legolas admitted, accepting the piece of Lembas that his father pressed into his hand.

"You get started on this while I go get your supper!" And before his son could think of a reply, the flaps of the tent swished closed behind the king, carrying in a gust of icy air.

The weary young warrior shivered, pulled his blanket more tightly around his shoulders and began to nibble on the piece of waybread.

Only a few minutes later his father returned, arms laden with food and another blanket. His frustration had given way to undisguised concern, and Legolas couldn't decide which he preferred.

"I am sorry, _adar_ ," he said sincerely as Thranduil laid out the meal before him. "I did not mean to worry you so."

His father sat down beside him, draping the second blanket around his shoulders and scooting close for additional warmth and comfort. "Just eat, but slowly," the king admonished quietly, starting to rub his son's back in long, soothing strokes.

Silence fell for a while, both father and son taking comfort in each other's presence. When Legolas finally pushed away his plate and allowed himself to slump into his father's side, Thranduil thought he was ready to go back to sleep. Instead he asked: "Tell me about _naneth_. I know she died not far from here. What did you mean when you said that she loved me more than life?"

The king froze for a split second, then seemed to fold in on himself. For the longest moment Legolas thought his father was not going to answer, but eventually he spoke in a flat, detached tone.

"Her twin sister had been to Erebor to pick up the begetting day present for your mother which I had commissioned the dwarves to make. The gems of Lasgalen. On her way back she was captured by Gundabad orcs. When she did not return to the Greenwood at the appointed time, I sent out search parties. Your mother insisted on coming along. You were still a baby, barely weaned. I refused to let her go, but she went anyway.

"So I had no choice but going, too.

"When one of the search parties brought back the mutilated corpse of your mother's twin sister, she almost immediately began to fade – from grief, but also from guilt, I suspect. You see, we found out that the orcs had mistaken your aunt for the queen and taken her to draw me out, and kill me, too.

"I tried to keep her alive through our bond while we started to make our way back to the Greenwood. We were about a day's journey past Erebor when Galion's father met us, bringing you along, for you were fading also. You were still too young to withstand the weakening of the bond with your mother."

The king wrapped his arms around his son, holding him so tightly that the prince could feel his father's agitated heartbeat.

"Your mother knew that she was past saving, but I would not hear of it. She also knew that I had to pour everything into my bond with you if there was any hope of saving you. So after pushing the last of her life force into you, she closed off her bonds with you and me, ordering me to save you. She was gone within minutes."

Thranduil's voice was distant, back in the moment of his great loss. He felt Legolas' hot tears soaking his robe near his heart and lifted a hand to wipe them away.

"We could not resume our journey for some time because both you and I were too weak. So we laid your mother's body, and her sister's, to rest in the lake, never again to be seen by unworthy eyes. This is why there is no grave for either of them. And I could not bring myself to create any other memorial, because it seemed like a lie."

Thranduil lapsed into silence, his words and emotions spent. Remembering that horrible time was never painless, but speaking about it … well, he could count the number of times he had done that on one hand.

And yet the pain of it all was not the reason why the Elvenking had never told his son the entire story of the queen's death. Pain was an old companion: not an enemy to be fought but a wise – if at times unwelcome – counsellor that reminded him of all he had suffered, and survived.

The fear of placing the burden of this knowledge on his son, on the other hand, had always been an insurmountable obstacle. Until now.

Fate had brought them here, to this place, to this moment, and boxed them in so they could no longer escape the full truth of who they were, of what they had been through, and of what they were to each other because of it.

"I understand." Legolas' whispered words pulled the king out of his exhausted resignation to the inevitable. "And I think I understand why you have never told me all of it. I would not have understood before this, but I do now."

Thranduil tightened his hold around his son. "Thank you," he said softly. "That means the world to me, _ion-nín_." He hesitated, then continued. "And yet, I was wrong in not telling you sooner; for I fear something like resentment towards your mother has been growing in your _f_ _ë_ _a_ because of it. And in that, I have wronged both you and her."

Legolas considered this for a while. When he spoke, it was quietly and haltingly.

"Not resentment, no. But … for the longest time, I have felt this deep sense of … rejection … that I could not understand. It confused me, for it simply was not consistent with _anything_ that I knew to be true. Now … now it makes sense, though. She _did_ reject me."

Thranduil winced at these words. He had known that his son's feelings about his mother were conflicted, but Legolas had always kept this part of his _f_ _ë_ _a_ carefully shielded.

"Can you see, though, that she did it out of love, _ion_?"

Nothing could have prepared the Elvenking for the sense of utter failure that hit him with the answering silence.

\\*/*\\*/

 ** _A/N: Dear readers, it has been too long. I apologise. The last three months of 2019 were not what I wanted them to be, and both work and family responsibilities consumed all my time and energy. My gratitude to all who have read and reviewed so far, and to all "favourites" and "follows". A special shout-out goes to invisible obsessor, whose review spurred me into finishing this chapter (which I started writing in November!)  
I hope all is well with you._**


	14. Hopes, herbs and other matters

_**Chapter 14: Hopes, herbs and other matters of life and death**_

It was with a heavy heart that the Elvenking stepped outside his tent in the morning. Even though Legolas stood by his side, a little closer than necessary, his hand seemingly inadvertently brushing against his father's, their imminent separation weighed him down like a leaden cloak.

Everyone was getting ready to travel, eager to return to their homeland. However, there was still a decision to be made which for some of them would affect both itinerary and destination.

Against the grim backdrop of the bodies of dozens of fallen warriors, a desolate Tauriel stood, awaiting the king's arrival. She was well aware that him giving her a choice in her destiny was beyond gracious.

Yet both options meant that she was going to leave the only home she had ever known. Whatever curiosity used to make her venture to the borders of the Woodland Realm – and sometimes beyond – was all but gone in this moment, replaced by apprehension. She would not see any of her people again for a long, long time, and she was beginning to understand the depth of that loss.

All too soon she stood face to face with the Elvenking. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eyes. For a brief moment she was taken aback. Though he towered over her like he always did, emanating authority and confidence, he seemed different today. Weary and … sad.

But then he spoke, and the moment passed. "Have you made your choice?"

Willing her voice to remain steady, Tauriel replied: "I have, Your Majesty."

She paused, unsure whether she should wait for his prompting.

The king raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"By your leave, sire, I would like to go to Lothlórien."

Because this felt more like the punishment she thought she deserved. Sailing was meant for good, world-weary Firstborn, not for prodigals like her.

"Very well," the Elvenking replied with a nod. "I shall arrange for a party to accompany you, and for provisions to last you for your journey. I shall also send with you a letter to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel explaining the situation. You will find no ill will in Lothlórien, of this I am certain."

Tauriel lowered her eyes and bowed her head. "I thank you, sire!"

A beat passed, then Tauriel felt strong fingers under her chin, tilting her face upwards once more. She blinked, surprised to see a tiny spark of warmth in the Elvenking's icy blue eyes.

"You chose wisely, child," he told her, his rich, deep voice sincere. " _Arda_ may have need of your courage and passion again."

\\*/*\\*/

Sadron was more than ready to go home. Though his skills had been in dire demand over the last few days, he much preferred the order and cleanliness of his healing rooms at the fortress to the mayhem of the battlefield. Times like this reminded him of why he had exchanged the sword for the scalpel.

He chanced a look at the cloud-covered sky and decided he was also ready for the leafy canopy of the woods. Everyone else might call it Mirkwood, but there were still wide stretches of healthy, vibrant forest, and he loved walking under the cover and amidst the song of ancient and young trees. Life there was … less loud than here, despite the ever-present dangers.

With a small sigh he stowed away the last of his supplies for transport and motioned to one of the captains that the makeshift infirmary was ready to be taken down and packed up, too.

With nothing left to do for the moment, and neither king nor prince anywhere in sight, Sadron decided to go look after some of the more severely wounded warriors again. A gust of icy wind made him pull his cloak more tightly about him, but it also carried a whiff of a smell that set the wheels in his head turning. He looked around for the source, and a little smile tugged at his lips.

 _But of course!_

"So this is how our most capable guards of the dungeons were incapacitated," he announced to a startled Bilbo as soon as he was within earshot. "You have a great variety of skills, it seems, Master Hobbit."

Bilbo Baggins had the good grace not to deny Sadron's statement, and to look a little embarrassed. "Yeah, um, well, I might have overdone the dosage a little bit," he replied, fidgeting with his traitorously smoking pipe. "All I know about the constitution of Elves is from books, and not the scientific kind, I'm ashamed to say. I guess tripling the dose, along with your strong wine, worked a little too well." Suddenly his eyes went wide: "They did not suffer any serious harm, I hope?"

Sadron waved his hand dismissively and sat down beside the halfling. "They had a spectacular hangover, which is extremely rare in Elves. It was quite the experience."

"Yeah … sorry," Bilbo mumbled for the second time that week.

"Tell me, Master Hobbit, is it true that you use this herb solely for entertainment purposes?"

Bilbo looked sideways at the Elven healer, trying to determine whether he was seriously interested or judgemental. Sadron's face, however, held only curiosity.

"Mainly, yes," the hobbit confirmed. "We smoke it, but we also grind up the dried leaves and mix the powder with wine, or even put it into pastries … We enjoy the relaxing, mood-lifting effects of the herb. But we also uses it as pain relief for very ill patients. Mortals like us, we are sometimes afflicted with painful illnesses as our lives draw to an end. Although I imagine it is unfair to expect you to understand …"

Sadron slightly shook his head. "We still feel pain. We still hurt, we still bleed, we still die. Just not from old age." The Elven healer's voice was soft and compassionate as he added: "Being torn from this world in the prime of one's life is not easy for _anyone_."

Bilbo stared at him for a moment, then averted his eyes.

There was a long silence, during which the hobbit seemed to contemplate something. Sadron waited patiently, sensing that the little halfling had questions for him. And sure enough, eventually Bilbo spoke very quietly.

"Why did your king join this war? Even I know that the Gems of Lasgalen were only a pretext, an attempt to get Thorin to back down and stay this madness."

The healer quirked an eyebrow, surprised at the depth of insight from this seemingly unassuming mortal. But before he could reply, Bilbo continued.

"This was never about you Elves. What's a Dwarven stronghold in the middle of nowhere to you?" Bilbo looked at Sadron again, genuinely dismayed.

"You are both right and wrong, Master Hobbit. It was never about any land or gems. But it was always about all the peoples of Middle earth – _all_ its peoples – including 'us Elves'. Evil forces have been breeding under the cover of darkness for a long time, it seems, and Thorin Oakenshield's quest to reclaim the mountain from the dragon acted only as a spark to ignite the fire, as an accelerantto what would have happened anyway … someday."

Bilbo considered that for a moment. "So you are saying this war was inevitable?"

Something about the halfling's tone struck a faint warning in Sadron's mood, so his tone was decidedly grave as he replied:

"No. What I am saying is that there are forces in this world that are not to be trifled with, let alone meddled with. Evil cannot be outwitted, Master Hobbit. It can only be eradicated."

\\*/*\\*/

 _ **A/N: Dear readers, I apologise for how short this chapter is, but it seemed a good place to stop before the remaining loose ends will be tied up in the next (and final) chapter and epilogue. Thank you for your patience. Please stay safe and healthy in these insane times.**_


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